


because I could not stop for death (he kindly stopped for me)

by llamallamaduck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Angst and Humor, Child Soldiers, Death, Dimension Travel, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, How was that tag not already there Jesus., M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Polyamory, Swearing, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llamallamaduck/pseuds/llamallamaduck
Summary: They fought. They won. Funny, how victory means little to three grown-up child soldiers, raised by war, and shaped by heartache.(AU-dimension travel)





	1. hope is the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic, so be, y'know, constructive. All comments are appreciated and will be responded to if I am so lucky to get any. Updates will be.. sporadic at best. I am posting as I go along. I have no idea what I'm doing, where the story is going and oh my god. Cheers(:

They had a plan, which ended in victory, but not survival. Death wasn't preferable but, sadly, was seemingly unavoidable.

They were always close, three of them, but the last year on the run, scared and alone, lugging around a _horocrux_ of all Morgana-damned things, brought them infinitely closer together. In another world, jealousy and insecurity could've driven a wedge between them. In this one, the endless ocean of love they felt for one was matched, drop for drop, with the one devoted to the other. Their little, fucked up triad lacked a lot of things such as food and shelter and parental care, but not love. Never love. The boys worshiped the girl and the girl was equally fierce in her devotion to her boys. They belonged to and with each other and that was always how it was going to be.

Were they normal teenagers, living normal lives, or even if their mental states were even approaching sane, the process of figuring out and negotiating their relationship would've been a stressful, emotional, turbulent time. However, children being hunted in a middle of a civil war, with one functional set of parents between them, have a unique sense of perspective. The need for companionship and human contact overrode whatever self-conscious instinct they might have otherwise had, and shyness gave way to exhausted honesty. They faced death and mayhem since they were eleven years old, and trying to be coy with one another, trying to seduce or beguile would be both incredibly awkward, and somehow disrespectful to the bond they had built over the years.

  
Truth be told, while some would have found their relationship inspiring or romantic, it would be more accurate to say it was tragic. It was plain each of them suffered from a case of frightening but grotesquely functional co-dependency which alone would guarantee them trips to the mind healers until they were old and grey and able to fathom the notion of spending the day apart

 

See, magic is a tricky business. It's not just an attribute, not just a force as muggles would define it. It's not just pointing a stick and exclaiming broken strings of latin. It is emotional and mystical, unpredictable and uncontrollable. It reacts to wishes, strong emotion, iron will. It is shaped by belief, which is what makes it so difficult to articulate in a language shaped by rationalism and enlightenment. Wizards not muggles with a wand. Their magic shapes them, and their lives shape their magic. Where the muggles have science and theology, spirited debates about the nature or existence of the soul, the magical community has both ghosts and the soul arts, undisputable evidence of both souls and some sort of afterlife. 

 

Now, as many a muggleborn has despaired over the years, trying to scientifically quantify magic, trying to establish a scholarship such as that of physics or chemistry, is not only impossible but redundant. Magicals and muggles are fundamentally different beings, whose vast difference has lead to sharp divergence in evolution, both mental and physical. In a very real and tangible sense, a nonmagical horse is closer to a nonmagical human than a wizard or a witch. They are physically, metaphysically and philosophically different. For example, a muggle child, age seven, sees fire for the first time, tries to touch it, gets burnt and while it is mentally changed forever with the newfound understanding of "burn" and "fire" and "hurt", physically it is more or less the same. The mental trauma only very rarely translates to the physical world. And because the physical trauma is the more immediate and deadly threat, the focus falls on it, and mental trauma gets a back seat at best if it isn't thrown out the window completely.

  
With magical children, things are altogether different. A magical child putting its hand in the fire will doubtlessly result in immediate and sometimes permanent consequences, but they will be as a result of the magic fueled by the child's fear and pain and anger. Because physical trauma is so easily fixed as a matter of hours or with the swish of a wand, all the focus is on the mental state. That is why magical children have to be monitored much more than muggle ones. The volatility and emotional strength of children coupled with magical ability result in a risk to the children and their surroundings.

  
Remember that child that stuck its hand in the fire? It could explode the fireplace in its anger, or apparate far away in its fear. It can form scales on its arm to protect it in the future, or even turn it to stone to stop it from hurting in the present. In the milder cases, it can develop a block on fire-based-, or an affinity for water-based magic.  
Wizards are shaped by their emotions much more, which shapes their magic, which in turn lets them shape the world around them.

 

Now, imagine, if you can, a group of three eleven-year-old children, each with their own complexes and problems, which will doubtlessly already shape their magic in predictably sad ways. The attention-starved, grossly overshadowed boy, yearning to prove himself and earn the attention he wants. The abused, neglected orphan, wanting a normal life with someone, anyone to love him. The too-clever, emotionally stunted girl trying to find the right string of words, the right facial expression, the right behavioral pattern needed to understand why the other children are so slow, and why mommy and daddy are scared of her. All three of them horrifically socially inept. All three of them with magic shaped by mental scars instead of happy memories. Brought together by chance but tied together by surviving attempted murder. Which set the tone for the next ten or so years, with peace as a wistful goal and chaos as a devoted companion.

 

And that, really, is why their relationship is more sad than romantic, more unhealthy than inspiring. These children have been shaped almost exclusively by trauma, by narrowly avoiding death and dealing it. Always together, always surviving. By the time they reach magical maturity their magic is so twisted together, they are so viciously devoted to each other, that the notion of romantic love is almost trivial in comparison. Who was fucking whom held less weight to jaded-eyed teenagers who in a very tangible way, shaped each other's souls.

 

So, they approached this final danger, this Last Battle as they did everything else. Seriously, fiercely, viciously. Together. The battle was long and bloody and tragic and pointless. In the end, they stood victorious, tired and empty. They were  _done._

So used to survival, they went through the motions for a while. Did the funerals, faces stony, expressionless, but with scarcely an inch between them, death grip on each others hands the only visible sign of the devastation raging inside. Moved in Harry's dead godfather's house. Made nice with Kreacher. Slept tangled together in a bed way too small because that's how it's always been. Hidden away from the public eye and the inevitable media frenzy. Tried to fuck each other. Failed miserably. Tried to pretend they weren't freaked out with possibly becoming asexual. Flinched at loud noises. Practised their magic through seemingly endless bouts of insomnia. Spent as much of Harry's inheritance they could on ridicculously over the top luxuries which never failed to make Harry smile faintly, and Ron and Hermione itch to crucify the Dursley's.

Trying to pretend they weren't holding themselves back from burning the world down in their anger.  
Trying to pretend they weren't _batshit crazy_.

Really, there was a lot of lying in those post-war years, during which they left their house without a disguise less than a handful of times.

But, surviving out of inertia, out of habit, wasn't enough. Could never have been enough. They had no purpose apart from each other. No passion. No hopes or dreams. Their magic, unused to peace, was keeping them alert and always on the lookout for the next danger. Three grown-up child soldiers made by and for war. It was always going to break.

And it did. They ran out of lies, out of excuses.  
They found an abandoned field, and raged and cried and laughed. Flung their chaotic magic around, let their wild emotions fly. And in the end, in a parody of an embrace they shared since they were fifteen years old, laid down in a tangle of limbs, pointed their wands at each other and with endless love cooed "Avada Kedavra".

  
And then they _woke up_.


	2. Minimal beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron wakes up. And goes back to sleep. And wakes up again.  
> (really, it is as exciting as it sounds)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to experiment, convey the vagueness, shock, and stream of consciousness. Not very well. But hey.
> 
> AN. Edited on 15.03, minor (depressing) spelling/grammar mistakes. Sweet baby Jesus. Also, a bit of fan-girling Douglas Adams. Cause he's got all the Awesome.

How does one describe the sensation of waking up after having committed suicide? Or, rather, waking up after having killed, and being killed in turn, by your two best friends, somewhere that is definitely not where said soulmate-assisted-suicide took place? One doesn't.

They came to bewildered beyond words, beyond  _thought,_ naked as the day they were born, lying on a small sandy part of an otherwise rocky coast. Sitting up slowly, they stared blankly at each other, stunned by this new turn of events. Fortunately, the emotional upheaval of the last couple of days that culminated in the events of the previous night, resulted in numbness creeping in fast around the edges, which went a long way in keeping hysteria at bay. So, the three friends slouched there, staring dazedly at nothing in particular, warm in the early afternoon sun, and waited for their minds to reboot, their shock to subside.

Sometime later Ron's eyes lit up with the smallest spark of intelligence. He shook his head in a fruitless attempt to clear it, exhaled, and slowly and carefully exclaimed, "Er". He looked at the other two expectantly, waiting for something, anything to make sense. Hermione and Harry were the most capable people he knew. Surely they will know what in Merlin's name was going on!

They showed no sign of comprehension, awareness, or indeed any intention of moving anytime soon. He tried again, with another carefully enunciated "Er". No success. He was strangely unbothered by this because, in the sea of confusion, Harry and Hermione were his two constants. As long as they were there beside him, he was perfectly content with waiting for an explanation of... this.

He occupied himself by examining his immediate surroundings. A beach. He recalled fuzzily he always liked beaches. The reason escaped him, “-really, nobody with skin that pale and hair that red has  _any_ business spending any substantial amount of time in the sun-“ he said to himself in an uncharacteristically huffy, matter-of-fact manner, almost as if he were quoting someone. Well. Never mind all that.

Beach. Big, shiny rocks. Apart from their color, nothing too interesting there. They shone a stunning white, their texture unusually smooth, painfully bright in the harsh midday sun. Come to think of it, the sand was also white. Huh. He looked around, feeling that he was missing something. There was something off about this picture. He racked his (scrabbled) brain some more, but a pulsing headache had him abandoning that particular train of thought soon. He peered curiously at his two companions and cocked his head. There was something off about them too. They were naked, completely still, barring the faint but steady movements of their chests, yet somehow giving of a general air of bonelessness. They looked for all the world like they were completely brain-dead. He felt a sharp pang of irritation directed at those vague expressions that had no business being on the faces of the cleverest and most resourceful people he knew, so he gave them a couple of reproachful pokes. Having gotten no reaction, he decided poking their faces, albeit fun, wasn't going to help Harry and Hermione. He turned back to the water to continue his exploration. In the back of his mind, the small, self-aware part, was shrieking in alarm -" _nothing_  about this situation is right you idiot,  _what_ is  ** _wrong_**  with you?!"- But that small part of his mind was easily muffled by the hazy numbness, coupled with emotional exhaustion and general unwillingness to deal with yet a _nother damn situation._

So he wiggled around in the warm sand, made himself more comfortable and continued his visual inspection. He couldn't see any other landmasses from this vantage point, only a vast expanse of water as far as the eye can see. He gave an experimental sniff and recognized the telltale tang of salt in the air - so it was either the sea or the ocean. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, he dispassionately decided. He wasn't even aware seas could be this crystal clear. He paused, instinctively waiting for some reaction to follow that thought. Nothing happened. Hmm. His shoulders twitched, not unlike an aborted shrug, further puzzling the redhead. Realizing he was getting nowhere and was just getting agitated, he gave it up as a bad job and determinedly looked back at his surroundings. Beach. Water. Rocks. Right.

He realized he ran out of scenery to observe from this point of view. Having thought about this for a little while, the dazed redhead, at last, decided that, yes, he would have to move. With a little groan, he hauled himself halfway up, and flopped around until he was facing away from the coast, but was still within touching distance from his companions. Satisfied, he settled back in the sand and continued his examination.

Dense trees, white bark, vividly green, no obvious path. He contemplated the startling, stark white of the beach, the line of which continuing smoothly, almost as if unbroken onto the tree trunks, dense, green forest. Pause for a reaction. Nothing. Damn. Moving along then. It was impossible to gauge the size and type of landmass without standing up at the very least, and he had absolutely zero interest in being further away than strictly necessary to his friends. His forceful serenity wavered a little, his pulse speeding up at the thought of them being separated, but he settled when he realized that just  _isn't going to happen_

So. Trees. And more trees. And nothing else, really. He felt a bit betrayed at the sparsity of his surroundings. Really, how is there nothing to examine excluding trees and shiny white rocks? He huffed aloud, trying to convey his irritation to the universe. One glance at his companions told him they still aren't all there, so he settled in for a long wait.

With nothing to distract him, he realized there was a slight problem with his plan: if he didn't have something to occupy his mind with, questions were popping up quicker than he could comfortably ignore, thereby threatening his hard-won serenity. That won't do. Thinking this over, he laid down next to his friends (- _his friends/his friends_ /Merlin and Morgana/ **Harry** / **Hermione** /what _happened_ /something's wrong/where are we/what is this/fucking _hell_ -). He firmly shut down that train of thought.

Right, he thought to himself. Let's look at the facts. I am confused. I am not alone. Harry and Hermione are here. They are whole and uninjured. I am also uninjured. I am not cold or hungry or wet. My  **friends**  are  **here**. We're together. We're alive. We're not in danger (-danger/danger/ _always_  in danger/when have been  _not_ in danger/be careful/ _be careful_ / **DANGER** -). His magic started lashing around in distress, ready to defend him and his, and he huffed again. "I am fine." He said to the beach. "They are fine. They are here. That is  _enough_." With this stern command to himself, the redhead calmed down, and, suddenly exhausted, buried his head in Harry's lap, throwing his legs over those of Hermione. 

He woke up to the jostling sensation of his legs being moved suddenly and a quiet but shrill sound he couldn't place, but recognized the source: " _Hermione_!" Sitting up quickly he shook his head sharply trying to focus his fuzzy mind with very limited success. He growled at himself in irritation. "Hermione needs something,  _pull yourself together_!" Another sharp shake of the head produced no better results so he gave up on his bleary mind and turned around to Hermione.

" 'Mione, love, are you okay? Can I help?" No response. "Mione, darling,  _look_ at me, honey. What is it, c'mon, talk to me." Nothing. She kept staring at the coastline, shaking like a leaf, jaw clenched to the point of cracking. "Which her parents would be really upset about," he thought absurdly while pausing to collect himself yet again and shuffled closer to the shaking brunette. He gently turned her head towards him and kissed her forehead. "Look at me love. Calm down. It's okay. We're _okay_. Look, Harry's here. Look at him. He's okay, he's not injured, not in any pain. Just sleeping soundly. No nightmares even!"  
He continued jabbering along distractedly while positioning himself to gently cradle her small (-small/so small/Merlin was she always this frail/FOCUS you idiot, damn you-) frame to his chest and rocked slowly. "There you are honey, everything is all right. Look at this beach! You know what I first noticed about this beach? How sparse it is. In fact, you keep going on and on about this minimalism business. Surely this beach is the shining example of minimalism. In beaches. I challenge you to name me one beach more minimalist than this one. Only one. You cant, can you? I thought so! Why, if one was to name this beach, I'd wager they'd call it Minimal Beach. For that matter, how impressive is my knowledge of Muggle terminology?! And you say I never listen to you. Well, I am vindicated. Vindicated, I say!" his stream of absentminded but soothing babble was interrupted by a hiccup in the vicinity of his chest where his precious bundle stopped shaking and was incredulously looking up at him.  
" _Minimalism_? _Beaches_? Have you gone completely  _mad_?"  
All the tension in his frame drained away at her having regained a semblance of sanity, and he let her go and flopped back on the sand.  
"Mione, love, you were  _shrieking_. Honest to Merlin shrieking. You  _never_  shriek. I had  _no frame of reference_. What was I supposed to do?" He finished, breathless, noting dazedly there was a curious buzz in his head, a strange lightheadedness he couldn't remember ever feeling. He forced himself to stop talking and looked at the sky trying to collect himself. Breathe. In. Out. Calm.  
Hermione looked at him with mounting concern. He appeared quite deranged, in that special way people get when they have to focus all their attention on staying outwardly calm and collected because otherwise, they would be shrieking, gibbering mess.

"Ron, honey, darling. It's okay. I was just surprised. I came to, sitting naked, on _some beach_ \- You know what. Never mind that. You're  _quite_  right. We're fine. We're good. We're all together. Nobody's wounded. Nobody's  _clothed_ , oh  ** _god_** , what's  _happening_  Ron?!"

He looked up at her with all the serenity of a Draught of Peace addict. “ ‘Mione, frankly, I was betting on you telling me."

The even tone combined with the wild eyes of a person holding on to their composure by the skin of their teeth brought Hermione's rising panic to a screeching halt.

"Okay.  _Okay_.  **So.**  Here's what's going to happen. We're not going to think. At  _all_. We will distract each other from thinking too deeply about anything. At all costs. We will take inventory. We will wake Harry. We will conjure up some  _clothes_. We will go sit in that lovely shade and either conjure up or find a source of drinking water. Agreed?! Agreed." She nodded firmly to herself, noting the steadily decreasing panic in Ron's eyes.

"Okay. So. Inventory. What do we have?" asked the witch.  
"Nothing."  
" _Nothing_? What do you mean  _nothing_?" she parroted uncomprehendingly.  
"Nothing", said Ron in the driest of tones.  
"Impossible. Surely we have something. We always have  _something_."  
"Mione, love, look around, there are literally five different things on this beach. Three of us. The trees. The rocks. That's it. Inventory done. "  
She forced down the panic bubbling in her voice and replied calmly. "We don't know that. There could be invisible things.  _Magic_  things. Invisible magic things.  _Whatever_. You know what I mean.  _Merlin_. Okay. Fine. Lets put a pin in that one, and move on to item two. "

They turned simultaneously to look at their third member, that was still quietly looking into the midair, seemingly oblivious to the tightly leashed panic of his companions.

"Okay. So. He is catatonic. I assume we were all like that at some point. My body is cramped enough that I can imagine it being a result of sitting hunched down in one position for too long." babbled Hermione while trying to Keep Calm with all her might.

"Got it in one", was Ron's too cheerful reply. "I came to first, in the loosest sense of the word. I spent some time gibbering on the inside, gave myself a headache and decided I  _don't stand a chance_  of figuring anything out without the two of you,  _ever_ , so I went to sleep until you started shrieking, and sweet Circe you will never live that down, aaand long story.. well long, here we are" he finished, lips stretched in a manic grin, with the overall air of someone who is trying to keep his wits in a house fire, by virtue of ignoring the fire.

_“I don't have my fucking towel”_ muttered the brunette. A look of comprehension utterly failed to cross Ron’s face. Hermione made a split second decision, stepped up to him, uncaring of their state of undress, and buried her head in his shoulder, squeezing his lanky frame with all her strength. He clung to her desperately, unaware of just how tightly he was holding her. That will bruise, she thought absently, the pain helping to ground her somewhat and reaffirm her self-control.

  
"You're good. I'm good. Harry is  _basically_  good, will be better shortly. Okay?" she mumbled into his chest.  
He nodded against her head where his face was being swallowed up by the perpetually bushy hair, made even worse by the humidity. Bit by bit his grip lessened and she gently extracted herself. She patted him fondly on the shoulder (-that is already starting to get  _sunburned_ , let's put that on the list, okay, now  _focus_ , you scatterbrained  ** _GOOSE_**  you-). The randomness of the self-rebuke snapped her back into focus and she tore her gaze away from where she was glaring at his shoulder and looked up at his bemused eyes. She pasted a bright smile on her face and said with false cheer, "Okay! So. Item two: waking up Harry. How do we proceed?"


	3. if only, if only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up. Theres snark. And scenery. And a hint of plot even! *give myself a pat on the back* Please comment and give some yummy constructive feedback, and feed my poor belaboured soul (:

Ron couldn't stop a snort from escaping slowly unclenching teeth. “You were having one of your inner fussy fits, weren't you. No scowling now, love, don't forget we know you.”

The scowl melted of Hermione’s face faster than it could appear at this show of normality, and her smile this time, small and crooked though it was, was infinitely more real than the imitation from before. The tension in her shoulders lessened, and she started rocking back and forth on her heels, both to shake out the cramped muscles, and channel some of the nervous energy thrumming through her.

“Okay. Harry. Ideas. Go.”

Ron raised his eyebrows but replied gamely. “Well, I'm going to level with you. I’ve got nothing. I don't think we should really force him to wake up. You were telling me something at some point about how suddenly waking up sleepwalkers is very jarring and disturbing to them, so it should be avoided.Now, I could be wrong, but if it applies to normal, muggle sleepwalking, imagine the consequences of suddenly waking up _Harry fucking Potter_! “

“Right. You're right. _Of course_ you are. What was I _thinking_?! Okay. Waking up Harry is a no-go. Fine.

Item three was clothing. Which brings us right back around to _item-fucking-one_ because we must have something!”

Ron squinted at his sister/friend/wife/soulmate. She's getting mad again, thought the redhead. But! It's good-mad. Not insane-mad. The type of mad she gets and becomes all hyper-focused and terrifyingly efficient. Good. He switched mental gear shifts into “Follow Hermione Blindly” and beamed at the madwoman he loved more than life itself.

 

Madwoman in question was indeed quite angry, in a way that was quite familiar to her. It was the type of anger that followed her all her life to one degree or another because the world just didn't make _sense_ and it was being _stupid on purpose_. So she would have to change it. Such is her lot in life.

She squared her shoulders, looked at her boys and shifted into Hermione On A Mission mode.

 

“Okay. Forget the list. The list is rubbish. New plan. New list. What do we have? Seemingly nothing. Pending review, until we search every Merlin-damned pebble on this beach and _don't you roll your eyes at me Ronald Weasley_ there could be something invisible! You are _very much aware_ how many artifacts are charmed to be invisible in certain situations. One specific thing comes to mind. That one little thing that _saved the whole damned Wizarding Britain_ and was a _gift from Death?!_

Rant finished, her voice shifted into the smooth, calm cadence from before.

“Seemingly nothing, pending review. What we do have, however, are three naked magical teenagers with _no wands_ , two of whom are rapidly getting a sunburn we have no way of treating, one of whom is _catatonic_ and shouldn't be woken up suddenly because he might _blow us up to hell_ along with the rest of the Merlin-damned- _ocean!_ ”

“So, new list. Get Harry and us into the shade. Sit down. Think further.“

 

NotingRon’s obedient nod, she gave herself a little mental pat on the back and crouched down next to Harry to peer into his face.

Frowning in thought, she idly mused aloud, “We’re idiots” and quickly maneuvered herself to cuddle up next to her catatonic friend. Ron, following Directive One - Always Listen to Hermione, shrugged, and mirrored her position on Harry’s other side, his arms easily encompassing his two smaller companions. She started running a hand gently through Harry’s hair and humming in a low tone, as soothing as she could make it. Ron understood immediately and, with a self-deprecating shake of his head, joined in. This was far from the first time they had to rouse Harry carefully from violent nightmares and night terrors.

The melody was slow, very rhythmic, calming but obviously melancholy.

 

(The process of finding the right melody was predictably tragic. Their first immediate assumption was - lullabies. However, time after time, they tried different tunes and they were constantly ineffective, even jarring unto themselves. After a while they managed to weasel out the story from him: when he was little, cold and alone in his cupboard, he'd hear Petunia sing lullabies to her son. She had an unexpectedly beautiful, expressive singing voice, which would be filled with maternal adoration when she sang to her son. For an abused orphan, hearing those beautiful, loving tones, only underlined how that was something he will never have. Ron and Hermione had already learned by that point that almost every anecdote from Harry's youth will make them murderous, and have been trying to calibrate their emotions accordingly. But there was something singularly sick about a _mother_ being able to traumatize _a child_ using the medium of song.)

In the end, the song that worked best was chosen completely at random and had no other significance except than its haunting beauty and unusual rhythm.

“If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs,  
"The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies."  
While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,

Crying to the moo-oo-oon,  
"If only, If only.”

(Sachar, 2003)

Slowly they started giving off gentle pulses of their magic, in rhythm with their singing.

As most of Hermione ideas, when she pauses to think, this one proved to be a success. The familiarity of the rhythmic notes visibly making Harry relax, the tense line of his shoulders unwinding into something more comfortable, his face slowly gaining color, becoming more animated. His magic started sluggishly joining theirs, soon forming a three-part harmony. After some time, he slowly came to, dazed but more aware. 

In contrast to Ron and Hermione, he had a lot of experience waking up in similar situations, bracketed in by his dearest friends, his magic moving with no conscious effort on his part. He closed his eyes, letting the soothing tones wash over him, and enjoy the moment of care and comfort. Some of his best Patronus-memories were from situations like these. 

Not long after that, brilliant green eyes blinked open, wary but composed. 

“Right, then. Thank you, I love you both more than words can say. Now. Where are we, what is this, why are we naked, why is the magic so wonky, where are my merlin-damned _glasses_ , and finally, and I mean this in the gentlest, most diplomatic way possible, why the _fuck_ are we alive? Because, not to belabor the point, but I distinctly remember three of us having a nervous breakdown, which ended in a very sad little triple homicide.” Ron and Hermione couldn't stop their shocked chuckles from escaping, and Harry, having achieved his goal, sighed in contentment as he wiggled further into Ron's embrace, feeling the redhead’s arms tighten around him automatically. 

“No, but, all joking aside guys. Fill me in.” 

“Well, okay,” said Ron deciding to brave the explanation. “You want to be caught up? Let it not be said I do not oblige. Skipping the events of, for the sake of simplicity lets call it Last Night, here’s what we know. We died. I woke up. Went back to sleep. Hermione woke me up again with her shrieking. We woke you up. We don't have anything. Hermione suspects there could be something invisible, but that could just be madness talking. The end.“

Hermione was still staring at the two of them, and the striking image they presented. She took a moment to commit it to memory, closed her eyes for a long second, and then yanked herself back into the present. “Sweet Circe give me strength” she sighed with fond exasperation and started to explain.

“All right here’s the situation. We woke - _no. Wait just one god damned minute._ ** _What did you just say?”_** Ignoring the shocked looks from the peanut gallery, she stood up and started pacing in the sand.“Hippogriffs _horn_ how did I not _notice?_ _Harry of all people_ had to point it out!?” she expertly ignored an indignant “Hey” and continued muttering. “Right. Okay. So. Ambient magic is somehow _completely differen_ t. That... isn't possible. Ambient magic can't just _change_ , it can perhaps shift subtly, but the differences would be virtually undetectable. So. That means...” 

The boys observed the pacing brunette with good humor but grew a bit concerned when she stopped muttering and froze in place, staring blankly into midair. “I think”, she said slowly, each word carefully measured, “that my original plan about _not thinking anything_ should now be enforced with alacrity. We will revisit the topic when we have found shelter from the sun, drinking water, food, and searched this _entire fucking beach_ even more carefully that we otherwise might have had. It is now vitally important we get our hands on a wand. I am officially declaring a Code Yellow. No thinking. No arguing with me. Shelter, food, water, and a wand. Now. _Please_.” 

Harry and Ron, already quite worried, snapped to attention when they heard the words “Code Yellow” and were now steadily gazing at her, faces grim, bodies tense. Code Yellow was invoked a handful of times, and never, _never_ , in vain. Whatever it was that spooked her, she needed them and they would never answer that with anything less than their full, undivided attention. 

Disregarding fatigue and lightheadedness was commonplace in their lives, so in short order, the two boys scrambled to their feet and did their best to focus. 

Harry went first, “I think we might want to start with the searching part first. I never did learn to tell the time by on the position of the sun, but its irrelevant to my point. We are only going to have so much daylight for the search. Us finding a wand makes looking for water, food, and shelter trivial. Also, veering slightly away from the list for a moment, without a wand, or my glasses, I'm not going to be of much use.”

He got a tense nod for his efforts and Ron picked up the thread of conversation easily. 

“Let's break it down then, shall we. We are looking for wands, artifacts, potions. Anything magical or muggle that could be of use. ‘Mi, is there a focus on the wands, or are all magical items of equal importance?”

“Wands, magical things, then muggle,” was the curt reply. 

Not bothered by the tone, Ron continued smoothly. “The search could be conducted either physically or magically. On one hand, I’d say magically makes more sense because, obviously, we already know we can't _see_ anything useful here. And Harry can't see anything at all. On the other hand, if someone charms an artifact invisible, he'd put an anti-theft charm as well. All that being said, there’s at least a couple of hours of daylight, and maybe,” he mused idly, casting a measuring eye around the surroundings, “30 square meters in total on the beach.” 

“In conclusion!” He exclaimed, pointing at the first big rock flanking the beach, on their right. “We start from there, get down on all fours, and physically go over the entire surface of the beach. If we don't find anything, we put a pin in it and move on to other items on the list. Deal?” he asked knowing full well there won't be any objections. There was a Code Yellow in effect, he reminded himself grimly, and that was no joking matter. 

The search is going, thought Hermione bleakly a couple of hours later, as well as can be expected of three naked, exhausted teenagers shuffling through the hot sand on their hands and knees, looking for something invisible. She grit her teeth at the stinging sensation of hot, salty sand rubbing against her skinned palms and knees, and moved to the next patch of sand. As she was _petting it_ , and fending off Dark Snarky Thoughts that always sounded like Professor Snape in her mind, she heard Harry exclaim triumphantly, “Found something” 

She tensed and, not daring to get her hopes up, kept _petting_ the _ground_ like an **_idiot_** _, Merlin fucking_ ** _wept. “_** What is it”, she asked in a faux-calm tone that fooled absolutely no-one. 

“There’s something here, wrapped in my invisibility cloak! I can't tell what it is for sure, but it feels like... The Elder wand and the Resurrection stone! But that can't be-”, he was interrupted by a happy shriek that came from Hermione, who then tried to jump up from her prone position on the ground, and pump her fist in the air. This turned out to be more of a fishy sort of lurch when her legs refused to cooperate. Nevertheless, her good cheer was indomitable, and she flopped back on the sand, put her fist in the air and declared: “Code yellow over!”. And then promptly burst into tears. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> Lullaby:
> 
> Sachar, L. (2003). Holes. Livonia, Mich.: Transcribed by Seedings Braille Books for Children.


	4. Keep it simple, keep it honest, keep it brutal, keep it tragic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character building. And like. Wisps of plot. Mentions of plot. Suspicions of plot happening sometime in the future.

Ron and Harry, dizzy with the sequence of events, looked at each other in utter bewilderment. " 'Mione, love, ventured Ron cautiously. "Are you-" he cut off, stopping himself in time to avoid asking something so obvious and switched tracks. "Can we help? Just tell us what to do. You know you're the brains of this fucked up little operation we've got going on."

Harry nodded vehemently, holding the bundled up Hallows in front of him like an offering to the gods.

The sobs shaking the brunette's frame started subsiding. As she started calming down, made the mistake of looking at her boys, and the frankly hilarious image they made, both naked, kneeling next to each other, leaning towards her with identical hopeful smiles on their faces. She felt a wild bubble of laughter rising in her throat and firmly pushed it down. "Calm, Hermione. You're acting completely unhinged, and are, most importantly, scaring the boys," she scolded herself sternly in her best Professor McGonagall voice.

 

Feeling marginally more composed, she put on a brave smile and tried to project an air of calmness. "Thank you, Ron, that was very thoughtful of you. As you _might_ have noticed, I'm feeling a bit... off-balance at the moment, and as a result, I'm afraid my emotions keep getting the better of me."A mischievous spark glinted in her eyes, "I wager it is a side effect of the whole " _mutual homicide_ " thing. She smirked at the relieved sounding snort from her companions. "But! I'm a bit better now that we have a wand. And if I had to choose only one wand to share between the three of us, it would definitely be that one.

So, what to do next. The way I see it, we bought ourselves some breathing room with this. We can afford to take some time to compose ourselves, reign in the madness, and let our blood settle.

Alternatively, option two: use what daylight we have a bit more productively, and try and work out some sort of camp or shelter. I am fine with either one, but would definitely suggest we avoid seriously discussing the veritable _herd_ of elephants in the room until we're much calmer, more rested, and overall more stable. Thoughts?"

 

Harry just shrugged. Hermione was best at analyzing the situation, the possibilities, easily distinguishing between preferred and realistic outcomes, long-term consequences, and then taking all those plus a lot of other factors into account to project all the viable options. Whereas Ron was definitely the best at strategy out of the three, and is almost invariably the one to choose the optimal option from those offered. This time would be no different.

 

Ron frowned thoughtfully. Soon he started pacing and waving his hands in the air, muttering under his breath, and overall making a very stereotypical image of a strategist at work.

 

"Well," he thought, "wasting daylight here seems just plain silly. If its food and rest we need, we won't find it here. Lack of water, that's something magic can fix. Food will be more difficult. We desperately need shade. We’re British, and therefore very combustible. I shudder to think about the magnitude of our currently developing sunburns. We don't know where we are and are terribly low on supplies."

 

He started humming under his breath, focused on their unenviable situation. "While 'Mi could doubtlessly fix a sunburn, it would be far from easy to do so with no potions, reference books, and, possibly, food limited to what we can scavenge, and water we can conjure. So. Reasonable shelter first and rest and relaxation later."

 

"Serious discussions are out. The strongest, most down to earth, no-nonsense witch on _Gaia_ was _shrieking_ and _rocking back and forth_ when she woke up. We need no better indicator of our current mental states than that. But. We've been getting progressively crazier for a long time. Waiting for sanity to happen, so that we can have any meaningful discussions, will leave us waiting for a very, _very_ long time. No. We need a system. Hmm. "

 

With a decisive nod to himself, he stopped his pacing and turned to the other two. As usual, he unconsciously straightened his posture, eyes snapped forward gazing a bit over their heads, voice deepened to a more soothing, commanding cadence. The tone combined with the short, concise sentences, phrased to be short, clear, and informative, resulted in a very efficient transference of information.

 

(People unfamiliar with the trio always found themselves part impressed part intimidated by Ron when he got like this and were without an exception taken aback at the extreme change in the attitude of the normally amiable redhead. Harry and Hermione just found the whole thing hilarious on one level and exceedingly admirable on another.

Ron was always a person who felt things strongly, so aftera long and tumulus relationship with other peoples' approval or opinion, he decided, partly out of self-preservation, that all the acknowledgment he would ever care about would come from family, Harry and Hermione being a part of that circle since October 31st, 1991. He was perfectly aware most would assume he's "kind but dim" or some such, but since his family knew better, he would be more than happy with the status quo. It took much less effort, and there was a sound strategic value in being the "approachable one".)

 

"Okay, so. First and foremost, regarding our mental state. Let's not sugarcoat it. We're _mad_. Have been for a very long time. Exhaustion and confusion are making things worse, that much is certain, but taking them out of the equation will only make us more stable comparatively. It will do little for our overall insanity. "

 

"We _can't_ afford to fall into the trap of postponing uncomfortable conversations indefinitely. Because we will never feel "sane enough". Fixing our combined mental issues and traumas will likely take the rest of our natural lives. So, to avoid this, I propose we come up with a series of short-term goals, leading up to a long-term one. Let's call it "Reasonable safety". "

 

"Reaching the long-term goal will mean we are safe enough for the time being and can afford to fall apart when we face the implications of us being here, and the things leading up to that. If you think its necessary, we can come up with exact conditions of that goal, but that will have to wait. "

 

"For now, we go for short-term goal number one, "Minimal safety". First of all, we move and find a reasonable shelter. A reasonable shelter includes, but is not limited to," he said, having begun ticking off points on his fingers, "adequate shade," tick, "protection from the elements," tick, "and a source of food." Tick. " _Augmenti_ will do for the water. "

 

Serious part done, he relaxed, mouth twisting in a wry grin, one hand automatically rising to scratch the back of his head somewhat self-consciously.

 

"That's me done, for now. I'm going to give you a few minutes to think, while I go and dunk myself in the water because frankly, my hair feels like it might catch fire any second now. "

 

Harry and Hermione were too preoccupied with his plans to reply with more than distracted smiles and nods in the general direction of the redhead, which he took as permission to go ahead and cool down. They were so absorbed, they missed the loud sound of a body hitting the water, and a joyful exclamation, followed by a series of slightly quieter splashes and hoots of appreciation.

 

After a couple of minutes, a very refreshed Ron joined them back on the beach and started shaking himself dry, not unlike your average shaggy dog.

“So. Thoughts?"

“Yes”, came a quick reply from Hermione, almost simultaneously with Harry’s quiet "No”.

"Okay," grinned Ron. "Are we pretending that _wasn't_ always how this was going to go?"

"Har har," groused Hermione, a mock frown furrowing her brows." _So_ funny. Quite a comedian, our Ron", she said, a smile breaking her stern facade. "But yes, while I agree with everything you've said, I do have some questions. "

"All ears," replied the grinning redhead. 

 

"Well, and this is really the main point. Shouldn't we be _looking_ for people? Isn't the native civilization our best bet of getting a lot of our basic needs met?"

"Yeah, I thought about that, though I called it Operation "First contact" in my head. But the thing is, finding civilization is important but risky. We could be stranded, or the natives could prove to be hostile. I think that the risk is too high, and we can't really afford many more setbacks at this point."

"Sure," nodded Hermione easily. "Makes sense."

 

"I have no questions, but I'd like to put something forward, as it were. **_Wards_**. I haven't had a restful night of sleep in an unwarned place in.. well, _ever_ , I don't think. I propose that, whatever other conditions we include in the “minimal safety” category, warding our shelter to hell and back should _definitely_ be on the list. Alternatively,if we cant manage it for some reason, we can sleep in shifts. The second option wouldn't be a very effective long-term plan, but we're not exactly planning long term, are we? "

 

The other two nodded immediately, with Ron tacking on “ _Absolutely_ ” for good measure. Not one of them could claim sleep came easy, even in the most well-fortified places. Sleeping in an unknown place with next to no resources would be a trial. “We will get through it” stated Hermione decisively. They shared grim, tight smiles. _They always do._

 

Harry was the first one to break the tableau. (If Hermione was in charge of laying down the groundwork, and Ron in coming up with a plan, Harry's role was getting it done.)

 

" _Oh-kay_ , now that that’s settled, let's get a move on, shall we? Daylight’s a-wasting! First things first! I recommend the usual formation, so Ron in the back, ‘Mi in the middle and me in the front. Yay or nay?" He looked at them expectantly. Having gotten no reaction he gave a meaningful cough. " _Ahem._ " Ron and Hermione shared a long-suffering look of deep resignation, resisted rolling their eyes with a Herculean effort, and intoned flatly “Yay”.

“Excellent”, beamed their manic leader.

 

“ _Well then_ , in that case, before we leave, there is just one thing to be settled. Namely _these_ ,” he exclaimed, pointing his finger dramatically at an unassuming looking bundle laying next to them. “We seem to have forgotten about a couple of unique, priceless artifacts people have _faced down armies for._ Not to worry, it can happen to the best of us, I'm sure,” he smiled at them charmingly.

 

The other two shared another long, commiserating look. We really need to get him to sleep soon, he will become unbearable soon, muttered Ron, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hermione sighed and looked at the gleeful verdant eyes. “No love, we haven't _forgotten_ about _the Hallows._ I can see how one would think we did though. It's not like _anyone_ here had a minor meltdown when they were found, or indeed insisted we search the ground for them blindly, until our _knees bled_.”

"Now, now," sing-songed Harry, wagging his finger under her nose. “No sassing your brave leader.”

“Oh _honey_ ,” crooned Hermione, with a toothy grin. “Are you _sure_ this is a wise course of action.”

 

Ron’s cough and a pointed look at the finger within biting distance of an increasingly bloodthirsty witch had Harry leaping back to safety. He shook his head slightly, his manic grin melting off his face, being replaced by a much smaller, tired smile. “Right. Sorry about that ‘Mi, Ron.” “No worries mate,” replied the Ron graciously. “It happens to the best of us.”

 

“Right. Well, twattishness aside, my point stands. Keeping the Hallows in one place would be unforgivably stupid. There's three of us and three of them. Let's divvy ‘em up, yeah?” 

“Right”, answered a much calmer looking Hermione. “Logical. Who gets what, then?”

 

Ron shrugged, “I've got no clue, frankly. The Hallows aren't something to be logically analyzed, I reckon. They don't make _sense_. They're really bloody useful and _terrifyingly_ dangerous. If one bloody horocrux from your run-of-the-mill mortal, dark lord or no, made us as insane as it did, what do you think _an artifact from_ ** _Death_** could do to us? Point being, we need to be aware just what it is we'd be playing with, and treat them with respect, yeah. They're not just _things_.”

 

Hermione nodded fervently, and quietly added “I agree. This one’s on you Hare. While I agree with Ron, I can't help. They're too bloody mysterious for me. Whatever you decide, is what we’ll do.”

 

Harry sobered up further and nodded thoughtfully. “Right. Ron's right on the money I think - they're not just things. They drive people insane, always have. That's kind of their whole thing. What we need to do is not let them have too much sway over us. Hmm.”

 

He paused, chewing his lip in thought. “Let's look at this from another angle. _Why_ are Hallows so dangerous? Because they exploit inherent weaknesses in us, our character flaws so to speak. A person craving more power would go for the wand. A person missing dead loved ones - the stone etc.

 

Let's take that a step further, and apply the same pattern to less obvious situations. I don't think its as simple as saying, a shy person would definitely go for the wand because they crave attention and recognition. They might legitimately dislike attention and would choose the cloak, or want to talk to dead people because their shyness cripples their social life.

 

What we need to do, is take a long hard look at ourselves, pick a Hallow that we would want most, and then very carefully _stay the fuck away from it_ as much as we possibly can.

 

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I'll go first. I hate attention. I despise awe. I was hailed a boy hero, a noble martyr since infancy. The Dursleys set a solid foundation, and the wizarding world cemented the notion. Instinctively, the thought of being in the center of attention makes me panic. The Cloak of Invisibility. Well. It seemed like a godsend. However. My family, our family, is dead, their deaths invariably having something to do with me. Missing them... Well. Missing them is who I am. I can no more imagine hating them, than I can imagine not missing them. I cannot fathom it. I guess what I’m saying is, there's not a lot I wouldn't give for the ability to talk to them whenever I so wished. The only Hallow that doesn't appeal me on a visceral level is the Wand. Power for power's sake was never something I really understood, much less wanted.”

His part over, he curled into himself, feeling bared to the world, hands clenched and teeth grinding.

 

Moving as one, his companions drew him into a tight embrace. “Oh honey”, whispered Hermione softly, trailing her fingers through messy black locks. “Thad had to have been very difficult. You were very brave”. Ron just held him close, rubbing circles on his back, providing what comfort he could. None of this was news to them, but hearing it was never going to be less intensely intimate, or depressing.

 

After a few long moments, steel returned to Harry spine, and green eyes opened with softness in them that wasn't there before. “Thank you. But. This is an awful thing we have to do. An awful thing that I'm _asking_ you to do. However necessary it may be. 

If you don't feel up to it, _don't try_. We can do it later, or figure out another solution. Not doing it at all is better than deflecting or evading. The _only_ requirement is absolute, categorical honesty. _Please_ believe me when I say, I'd spare you if I could. But I _can't_ let you use artifacts that could destroy you. Not if I had a way of stopping you. I-”

 

He was interrupted by soft lips kissing the palm of his hand. “ _Of course_ we will do it” murmured Hermione with a shaky smile. “Oh love, of _course_ , we are.”

He brushed a trembling thumb over her cheekbone. “Of course” he murmured back.

 

“I’m next then,” intoned Ron, the calm of his voice belied by the visible tension in his frame.

“I've always felt... Less. Less important, less smart. Less powerful. Soon enough, that turned to unimportant. Stupid. _Weak_. If I had to choose my most obvious weakness, it would be that I _have_ craved power. Maybe not for its own sake, but to be respected, and acknowledged and _loved_ by all. Not being a burden on a family that has no real need of me. Yeah, I would've done things I'd have regretted, for that kind of power at my disposal. So we have the wand. But now. Now... _Now_ my family is mostly _dead_ and... There is nothing, _nothing_ I want more than to get them back. _Get them all back_.

Out of the three, only the cloak has no appeal to me. Invisibility was something I battled with, never something I wanted for myself.” He finished in a barely audible whisper, eyes closed, wrestling his emotions back.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he croaked weakly. “Let's not have these emotional talks for a while after this, yeah?”

“Yeah, mate”, whispered the boy in his arms. “Yeah”, echoed the girl kissing his cheek. “Yeah” agreed the redhead gathering everything he loved in his arms. “Yeah”.

 

“Let it never be said Hermione Granger balked at answering a question” was Hermione’s halfhearted attempt at humor. “Merlin, that was _awful_. We’re a wreck. I'm going to stop stalling.

My parents were scared of me, do you know. They didn't understand me. They didn't even _try_. I was always... _Different_ I suppose. Smart. Calm. When they found out I was magic, they were so _relieved_. Finally, a reason they could point to decisively and explain why dislike and mistrust their eleven-year-old daughter. They didn't neglect me, as such. They were afraid, and they were anxious and jumpy around me. They watched my every move like if they looked away, if they weren't vigilant, I'd harm them in some way. I hated that. The constant attention. The looks. I just wanted to disappear.And there goes the cloak.

 

“I never loved them. I was and still am, fond of them. But when the time came, I chose to erase their memories of their only daughter and send them halfway around the world. No, I didn't love them. “

 

“And, I'm so sorry Ron, but I never really loved your family either. Not like you did. Not like Harry did. They didn't understand me either. I was a source of amused bewilderment, but they liked me well enough, and I miss them terribly. I would move galaxies to let you have them again. Both of you. But for myself... Well. The only people I have ever _really_ loved. They're right here with me. And the notion, the _idea_ that I could have more power, enough to protect you both, to keep you _safe_ is a temptation too high for the likes of me. “

 

So there we are. I'm a selfish creature, that keeps her treasures close. The stone has no sway over me.” finished the shaking witch, nails digging into her palms, head bowed, but eyes dry.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the feeling of her companions close, hale, healthy and _hers_.

 

The three kept quiet for a long while, weary to the bone after this last bout with sentimentality. But after some time, the sun began to set, and pangs of thirst roused from their semi-dazed state.

 

“ _Right_ ”, croaked Harry. “Well, let me tell you, I'm glad _that’s_ over. You know, I forget sometimes just how fucking pathetic our lives are. It's not often, and never for long, but it has been known to happen. Entire glorious _stretches of time_ even, free from the knowledge we might be three most _depressing_ fucking people on this Merlin forsaken lump of _rock_. And then something like this happens. And it's just. What.”

The two tired smiles he received for his efforts would have to do, he thought critically. _It’s been a rough day._

“Ahem. So. To sum it up.” He grabbed the bundle, looking at it with something akin to loathing. ‘Mi, honey, the Stone for you. Ron, you lucky bastard, you get the Cloak. And I guess you're coming with me,” he finished, glaring at the Wand.

“Well”, he sighed, relenting. “It's not _your_ fault I’m so fucked up. Let’s make the most our time together, yeah?” He couldn't resist a small smile and a roll of his eyes when the sparks burst out of the want after that proclamation. “I guess you agree”, he murmured. “That's good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. Like. Thoughts? Ideas? Problems? Feeling that urge to leave constructive criticism? Yes. Please. That’d be just swell.


	5. Son of a -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More filler than I would've liked, but like. Life. And things.
> 
> a/n. Edited on 29.06.2018, because I English better today than I did when I wrote this apparently. Hopefully? Doubtfully:D

 

They looked at each other tiredly. Harry tried to summon up some of his earlier enthusiasm, but the bone-deep wariness he felt made it impossible. With a resigned air about him, he focused his bleary mind. "Okay. I just want to note I have never felt more tired, after having accomplished less. Suggestion: If we can't stop ourselves from being so depressing, let's postpone it until we've reached our ‘minimal safety' goal. At the very least. _Merlin_. Okay.”

 

Ron and Hermione looked at their rambling leader, exhaustion and fondness warring on their faces.

“Hare, love, focus,” smiled the exasperated witch fondly. “Shelter, food, water, remember?”

Harry looked at them, an embarrassed grin pulling on his lips. “Sorry guys. You’re right of course. But maybe water first? Dehydration cant be good for the overall madness thing we’ve got going on.”

He pointed his wand at his companions, thought better of it, and pointed it to the sky. "Let's not take any chances with unknown artifacts, yeah" he joked. " _Augmenti”_

A proverbial _torrent_ of water burst out of the wand, the recoil of which made Harry stumble and fall. He stared at his hand with a look of profound betrayal and then looked up at his gaping friends, all three of them getting progressively more wet from the falling droplets of water.

 

"Well," said Hermione faintly. " _Well._ " Harry looked at them helplessly. "It's not my _fault_. That shouldn’t be _possible_ for Merlin’s sake.

 

"Err. Mate, maybe-" started Ron tentatively, but cut himself off. "You know what, no. It's not your fault. There are so many unknown variables here, we might as well be in another world-“ He was interrupted by a shrill exclamation from Hermione. “ _No._ There will be _no_ talk about any parallel universes, wonky laws of magic or changeable fucking _ambient magic._ No. We _agreed._ No _crazy talk_.” She nodded to herself, firmly ignoring the twin looks of bewilderment coming her way.

 

"Oh-kay. No ‘crazy talk' then. Whatever you say, love" he replied cautiously. She gave them both deeply unimpressed looks but didn't deign to comment further.

 

Sensing his sanity slipping further, Harry felt a new wave of determination rise from deep within. “You know what? No. We will not waste any more time on this _Morgana-forsaken beach._ I _refuse._ So, my charms have a bit more ‘oomph’ to them. Big deal. We need to drink. I have magic. And a shit-ton of it, apparently. This is _not_ a bad thing. So.”

 

He turned firmly as if he were afraid if he didn't hurry, the madness would catch up and drag him back into the pits of angst and confusion.

 

“Drinking water. Hm”

He pointed the Deathstick firmly at some pebbles and paused. He spent a long minute trying, and failing, to picture the end result of a ridiculously overpowered transfiguration. This not being a problem one faces except in rare thought experiments, he kept drawing a blank. This, in turn, wasn't doing wonders for his temper. 

 

“Screw it” he muttered, narrowing down his focus until the image of the bowl he wanted to transfigure was completely clear, and started the transfiguration.

 

Right off the bat, it was clear this would take some getting used to. While the overall speed of the transfiguration wasn't much different than usual, the process itself was jerky, with sudden stops when the excess of power overloaded the spell. This, in turn, affected the rate and uniformity of the process, with parts of the object transfiguring quicker than others. 

 

When he was as done as he was going to be, he surveyed the sad, misshapen lump of stone. While calling it a tub would be a grave insult to tubs everywhere, a tub-like structure wasn't too far off the mark.

He sighed. “McGonagall would _cry.”_ Ignoring the faint snickers from his friends with aplomb, he stood back, and carefully focused on channeling only the smallest trickle of magic. " _Augmenti”._

 

The second attempt at the usually trivial water summoning charm was much more successful, relatively speaking. The torrent of water was noticeably smaller but had nonetheless managed to immediately topple the stone tub.

 

Right, he thought grimly. “Mi, sweetie. A simple sticking charm that won't melt the island if I overpower it ridiculously. Shoot."

“ _Ferrumi_ ,” shot the witch back after nary a minute. 

 

“Ta, love. Now, both of you, please step behind me. I am out of patience to fray. ” Having made sure his companions were safe enough, he eyeballed the tub. There is no way he’s flipping the damn thing over physically. That has to weigh 500kg. Son of a _witch_!

 

“I cant just _Evanesco_ the damned thing can I?”

Not waiting for a reply he focused on re-transfiguring the tub.

He wrenched his magic under control and calmed as much as he was able. The spell was easier this time, the tub having still retained traces of his magic from before, and soon enough he had a much prettier looking tub. Comparatively.

 

Okay, step one. “ _Ferrumi”._ So far so good. He wandered up to it and have it a push. Seems pretty solid. He stepped back and took a deep breath. _Focus._

He paused for a second to think if attempting a silent casting would be beneficial, as those charms tended to be markedly weaker in intensity, but decided against it. Whatever the potential benefits, further splitting his attention seemed like a terrible idea.

 

He squared his shoulders, crouched a bit, and braced himself for the recoil. “ _Augmenti.”_ The spray of water was almost manageable this time! He aimed it carefully at the tub and cut off his magic after only a couple of seconds. Success!

 

The three teenagers approached the tub and eyed it warily.

 

“Well, logically, the _content_ itself shouldn't be in question, right? If anything, it should be _extra_ drinkable?” mused Ron uncertainly. “Of course”, nodded their witch firmly and leaned over to take a drink. “Tastes.. Er.. Like water?”

 

The three teenagers looked at each other uncertainly. "Look," bit out Ron "We cant start doubting every single charm. It's _fine._ Hare will have to relearn some control, but let's not go down this road."

The other two nodded in agreement and gratefully leaned over the tub to drink.

 

Refreshed, Harry felt his spirits rise infinitesimally. "Phew. I did not realize how thirsty I was! Next item: shelter. I'd transfigure us some clothes, but…"

 

“Let’s shelve that one honey,” sighed Hermione with a tired smile. “We’ve spent 12 hours on a beach, trying to leave the whole time, and so far we’ve accomplished a few nervous breakdowns, a metric ton of angst and to drink some water. _”_

 

Harry smiled wryly. "Right. Let me just make sure we're on the same page here: we most likely won't have reached a reasonable shelter tonight, not if we don't want to risk finding other people. Are we still on this course?"

 

Having received confirmation, he continued. “All right then. I have a proposal. But! You have to hear me out. I suggest we not move too far from the water. We’re too vulnerable right now to risk exploring, and we've no clue where we are. There could be hostiles, whether people or animal or any number of threats were not equipped to deal with right now. We've got a source of food right here - _Accio_ some fish. There’s the forest, we can forage. Most importantly - there's wood, so we can make camp pretty easy. We can build a fire on the sand while worrying less if we will start a forest fire. I know we were looking forward to going the fuck away but right now, it's not strategically sound. Okay, that's my spiel. Thoughts?”

 

Ron looked mutinous for a second but soon relented and sighed. "I really, _really_ wish you weren’t right. But.” He took a look around and sighed again. “Fine, let’s get to it then.”

 

The boys glanced apologetically at Hermione who was gaping at them. “ _Seriously?!_ No, okay. Fine. _Fine_. In that case, I’m going for a _swim!_ ” Throwing up her hands in the air, she stomped off muttering under her breath something to the effect of needing a break from this Merlin-damned lunacy.

 

 

 

 


	6. All in all, a rather beautiful end of the day.

 

The boys shared a commiserating look. Harry sighed. "Well, that was unavoidable. But. One thing. Could you keep an eye on her? You can't really help here, and my magic feels fickle. I’d feel better if you weren’t so close.

With a smile playing around his lips, the redhead gave him a brief hug. “Of course Hare. Call me if there’s anything else I can do.”

 

Harry turned to the forest. Excitement was starting to bubble up in his chest, almost against his will. He never had an opportunity to cast magic on this scale outside school or a combat situation.

 

The forest in front of him was pretty dense, with vividly green canopies barely letting any light through. The bigger trees had a couple of meters between them, with younger ones intermixed with various shrubs and other indeterminate flora. He could work with that. Zeroing in at the biggest gap between the trees, he shuffled closer and pointed his wand at the center of the small clearing. " _Ventiliri”_

A powerful gust of air burst from his wand and into the clearing, sweeping away much of the small plant matter, wood bark, and wildlife. He kept it going for a few minutes until he was satisfied the smaller debris has been cleared away, and he could better see what he was working with. Smaller trees and bushes left. He pointed at a medium sized tree, 4 or so meters in height and firmly incanted “ _Wingardium Leviosa”._

With an ear-splitting _crack_ , the tree shot up in the air, splitting from the roots. Harry jumped back, wide-eyed and quickly aborted the spell. “ _Arresto Momentum!”_. The tree froze some 10 meters in the air. With an exasperated sigh, he turned and stomped off in the direction of the water, absently waiving off his worried companions. From a safe distance, he turned back to the forest and cut off the spell. A moment later the tree crashed to the clearing with a series of loud _thwacks_ and _cracks_ , taking down a number of other trees along the way. He rubbed his temples.

 

Muttering to himself, he marched back to some five meters away from the ruined mass of fallen trees and debris on what he optimistically dubbed “The Clearing”. Well, he thought wryly. At least it will have more space. _Merlin._

He paused, considering, and started up again. First, he had to move the fallen trees.

Cautiously he pointed the Wand to the biggest of the fallen trunks, which was around one meter in diameter and channeled as little magic as he possibly could. “ _Diffindo”._ The tree was now sporting a deep horizontal gash roughly around the middle. He whooped internally, focused and cast again, splitting the trunk in half.

 

A series of _Diffindo_ ’s later, the fallen trees were cut into much more manageable pieces, the longest piece being about two meters in height. He took a moment to catch his breath, turned his head and bellowed “Ron, Mi! You guys should come and join me now. The coast is about to become unpleasant to be on. Oh, and please grab the Hallows on your way, yeah? ‘Ta”

 

Feeling very pleased with this bit of judiciousness, he jauntily walked around the Clearing so he was facing it with his back to the forest.

 

Ron and Hermione joined him and were looking wide-eyed at the destruction Harry waged on the poor unsuspecting forest. "Merlin Hare," breathed Hermione, "those were first year charms!" "But, points for creativity," added Ron loyally.

"Thanks, guys," grinned Harry wryly. “Have you got the Hallows? Great. Now! Stand back, please. This will be fun!”

 

He waited a few moments, giving them time to get to a safe distance took a deep breath and pointed the Wand at the pieces of wood on the outer edge of the soon to be Clearing. Channeling a fair bit of magic he incanted “ _Ventiliri”._

 

Even though he knew what to expect he was taken aback at the sheer force of the spell. _Merlin_ , he was glad whoever designed the spell took the recoil into account because who knows how far back he would've been flung by the sheer force of the wind.

 

Breathing evenly he focused on keeping up the spell. Twenty or so minutes later sweat was running down his forehead in rivulets, and he was having trouble breathing evenly, but the worst of the debris was scattered across the beach or floating in the water. The clearing was more or less free.

 

We only really need something for tonight, so just the basics would do, he mused. A shelter, fire-pit, that kind of thing.

 

He took a deep breath and started a very thorough process of visualizing a very simplistic wooden shelter. Normally he could do much more complicated spells without so much as a pause, but transfiguration is a very precise art. Being out of touch with his magic was an almost debilitating handicap. Having thought out the steps carefully and with a clear image of the results at the forefront of his mind, he started the spell.

 

The three looked critically at the result. It looked like a weak wind will blow it all to kingdom come. “Looks good! A strengthening charm or two might do as well, but otherwise great", said Ron optimistically. He pointedly didn't notice the two incredulous looks. "You look a little peaky though, so how about me and ‘Mi improvise a fire-place and you go and put that overpowered magic of yours to good use and summon us some fish, yeah?”

Harry smiled fondly. “I don’t say it nearly often enough mate, but I really, truly love you”. Shaking his head at the blushing redhead, he ambled off to the shore.

 

First thing’s first, a bowl. He pointed to a rock on the ground and started the transfiguration. Two minutes later saw him standing next to a stone tub of a similar quality than the previous one, if maybe a little smoother around the edges. A careful _Augmenti_ later and the tub was full of water and ready for some fishy inhabitants.

 

He turned to the sea and took a breath. _“Accio one fish”_ he intoned clearly, praying a whale wouldn’t be zipping in his direction. A minute or so later he started hearing a rather peculiar sound. That’d be the fish, he thought morosely, hoping against hope he wouldn’t get decapitated by the scaly projectile shooting towards him. Okay, I need to time this right, he thought to himself faintly, eying the rapidly approaching animal. A couple of seconds later, the fish broke the surface of the water and was accelerating in this new much lighter environment. He cut off the spell and barked _Arresto Momentum._ The fish froze in the air, the gills rapidly opening and closing in distress. He looked heavenwards and marveled at the ridiculousness of this whole situation.

 

"Hermione!" he whined piteously and flopped to the ground. She jogged to him and valiantly tried not to laugh at her sulking friend. "Oh, my.”

 

“Don’t _Oh, my_ me ‘Mi, just deal with this". He pointed vaguely in the direction of the fish, the tub and the beach in general. She patted him on the head and waddled through the shallow water, towards the fish still suspended in mid-air. Grabbing it firmly she braced. "Okay love, you can let the poor thing go now". A second later the fish started flopping madly, clearly frightened out of its fishy mind, but soon enough Hermione had it safely in its tub, swimming agitatedly in circles.  "Right. Now how do we kill it". Harry shrugged helplessly. "I never killed anything not human" he quipped morbidly. "Yeah. Me neither" was the rather grim reply. “Ron!” they called in unison. “How do we kill the fish”. Ron abandoned his feeble attempts at improvising a fire pit and happily joined his companions.

 

"Mum knew a heart-stopping spell I think, but let's not experiment with that one right now. Merlin knows you'll probably blow up the fish, the tub and us for good measure. We could let it suffocate, but that seems unreasonably cruel. Hmm. Tell you what, I helped mum with the chickens, so I could deal with it if you conjure some knives."

Harry nodded, relieved. “The. Best.”

He shuffled away and, aware of the potentially disastrous consequences of screwing up this particular spell, pointed to a rather distant spot on the beach, some 15 meters away. _“Culterasi”._ With a rather large clang, 20 or so different knives dropped to the ground. This having gone much better than he feared he was feeling quite smug when he presented Ron with his pick of the pile.

 

“Still alive mate. All fingers and toes accounted for”

Harry still smug, shot back, “You’re just jealous that now you have to gut a fish.”

“Boys”, said Hermione. “Behave. I don’t know about you but I am absolutely _starving_. Let’s leave off the bickering until we had some food in our bellies.”

Harry and Ron nodded sheepishly and went off to do their tasks. While Ron was occupied with the more unpleasant side of preparing their dinner, Hermione went off to the clearing to cobble together a fire pit, and Harry set about trying to conjure up some clothing.

 

Half an hour later, he looked at the huge piles of rather hideous clothing strewn about on the beach. ‘Well,' he consoled himself. ‘At least they’re going to disappear soon'.

He took three enormous robes that would be too big on Uncle Vernon and went to the shelter where Ron and Hermione were putting the finishing touch on their dinner. It consisted of slabs of fish on sticks, roasted over the merrily crackling fire, and salted with salt from the sea. All in all, it was a rather pleasant image, he thought as he tiredly sank down into the warm sand, sandwiched between his two friends. He looked at the sky that was almost completely dark. He handed them each a lump of cloth. "Here guys. They’re awful but we need some clothes. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

 

“Relax Hare,” smiled Hermione pulling him into a loose embrace. “Putting aside everything else, this has been a rather beautiful end of a day.”

“Yeah”, breathed Ron, leaning back on his elbows, head tilted back and eyes closed. “I always did love the beach”.

Not long after that, food eaten, last embers of the fire glowing softly, they lay under the shoddily transfigured shelter that was practically glowing with overpowered wards, sleeping more peacefully than they ever have since their early Hogwarts years. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err. Another filler? Writing these last two chapters has been rather difficult. I need to set the scene properly and stick to their power levels, but they don't have any power now basically. Hermione and Ron are background characters which I hate, but they can't really do much. Argh! Hopefully, the stupid intro is finished now, and the more action filled stuff can inspire me more:D


	7. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Two chapters in a day! Not bad right. Although this one has some plot finally.

Hermione stirred into wakefulness feeling refreshed, half remembering a rather nice dream where the three of them were frolicking around on a beach. The marked lack of fear and exhaustion that usually accompanied waking up caused alarm bells to start ringing in the back of her mind. Adrenaline flooded her system as she struggled to keep her breathing even, and body from tensing.

 

Her eyes snapped open and she took in her unfamiliar environment, alien scents and sounds assaulting her senses. It took a couple of seconds for her steadily panicking mind to boot up, but eventually, she remembered the events of the previous day and slumped, boneless in relief. Feeling a bit giddy with the excess adrenaline coursing through her veins, she stretched lazily, taking in the details she overlooked in her panicking state.

 

It was a rather beautiful morning. Having spent the vast majority of her life in gloomy Scotland, she found the warm, sunny beach rather unfairly beautiful. Harry's unfortunate shelter-like structure held up she noticed. She reached and gave the misshapen wood an impressed pat. Good for you, she thought.

Her two companions were sleeping peacefully and she was loathe to wake them. Some extra energy will do us well, she mused, thoughts starting to sour as her mind sharpened. Forcibly keeping her mind on track, she thought about the agenda of the day. Some indeterminate time later, she was still lying there, head buzzing with plans made and discarded when Harry and Ron came to.

 

She was actually quite wary about this moment, and rightfully so. The boys were likely to react as she did, albeit with more aggression. Ron wasn’t the problem, as he would feign sleep until he could asses the situation properly. No, it was Harry’s potential reaction that had her concerned. He could be rather.. explosive at the best of times. With the recent power-up, his lashing out in fear could have disastrous consequences. So she kept close watch on her friend, waiting for signs of wakefulness. As she sucpected, he gave no outwards sign of waking up, but his magic started to blanket the beach, trying to pinpoint the threat. She immediately started singing their lullaby loudly, hoping the familiar melody will ground him. Ron gave up his pretend sleep, and sat up quickly, having mostly figured out what was happening. His deep voice joined hers and soon enough they felt the somewhat oppressive blanket of magic ease up.

His brilliant eyes cracked open, lips twisted in a crooked grin.

 

“As cliché as it might be, have we considered this might be heaven? We tried to kill ourselves, and woke up together, on a beautiful, sunny beach. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, I'm feeling practically rejuvenated. I’m even pretty sure I didn’t have any nightmares, and Merlin knows that hasn’t happened since I was an infant.”

 

Ron looked at him, puzzled. “Heaven is that Christian thing, yeah? Living on clouds with little chubby winged babies with bows and arrows? Hold on, is that something that people actually believe in? We all laughed ourselves silly when Dad brought it up.”

 

Harry and Hermione exchanged a fondly exasperated look. “Never mind mate,” grinned Harry at his friend. “I could try to explain, but I don’t understand it completely myself, so Hermione would have to take over, and then we’d starve to death while learning Muggle comparative religion”.

“Well,” sing-songed Hermione, her smile saccharine sweet, “if you insist.” 

The two boys wisely decided not to pursue that train of thought any further.

 

The rest of the morning went by quickly for the trio. Harry and Ron executed another fish-catching maneuver, that resulted in a poor unsuspecting fish sharing a similar fate as its predecessor, while Hermione got a fire going, and procured them some salt for seasoning. They didn’t talk much, going about their business in a comfortable silence. A couple of hours later, having vanished the fishy remains, and put out the fire the three companions were lazing under the wooden shelter that shielded them from the unforgiving sun.

 

Finally, Ron broke the silence. “Right then. This has been wonderful. Really, it has. But. We have no idea where we are, or what’s going on. Now, _wait_ , ‘Mi, hear me out. I’m not suggesting we have an in-depth traumatic discussion about _feelings_. No ‘crazy talk’, my solemn oath on it.”

“What I am saying is that we’re, against all odds, in better spirits than we have been in recent months. Hell, in recent years. Let’s capitalize on that and figure out, at least in part, what the hell is going on. Who knows, maybe this is it. Maybe we’re on an abandoned island, in which case, we can return to our cozy little beach, laze about, help Harry figure out his wonky magic, so he can transfigure us a castle.”

 

He watched Harry stretch lazily. He was always vaguely cat-like, but right then the resemblance was uncanny. Green eyes squinted at him, unnatural _Avada_ green faintly glowing. Really, Ron thought, that doesn’t diminish the likeness one bit. He continued watching partly enchanted by the green-eyed boy's unconscious grace but mostly amused at the rare display of indulgent laziness.

Having finished with his stretch, with one last jaw-splitting yawn, Harry stood slowly, unsuccessfully trying to arrange the oversized sack pretending to be a robe. Giving it up as a bad job, he bowed gallantly to Ron and repeated the action to Hermione.

 

“Your wish is my command. By all means, let’s go brave the world. One caveat though.” His tone changed from playful to firm. “We stay together. Don’t even think about taking the Cloak to go exploring on your own. We are vulnerable alone. I'm the only one with any combat magic right now, and I am as likely to kill us all than I am to protect us." 

The other two nodded complacently. They no more wanted to split up than he did. It’s been years since they voluntarily spent any significant time apart.

 

With that, the easygoing atmosphere of before vanished. Having grabbed their preferred Hallow, they fell in the practiced ‘Mission’ mindset, moving in a tight triangle formation. Harry took point, with Ron and Hermione close behind him. With one last look at the idyllic beach, the Golden trio set off into the lush forest.

 

They were moving as silently as possible through the unfamiliar terrain for about half an hour when they started noticing faint signs of civilization. The trees were showing signs of damage, some broken, some scorched. They started feeling uneasy by what the surroundings implied. The distinct lack of wildlife didn’t help, so by the time they reached the first charred remains of an outpost, they were already fairly unnerved. "Code-fucking- _yellow”_ snapped Harry. The other two nodded grimly. They were hoping it was just paranoia talking, but their instincts were honed by years of bloody conflict, and they knew the signs well.

 

They continued on, moving as carefully as they could, but by all accounts, they were the only ones there. An hour in, the signs of violence were growing, and they started spotting knives strewn about on the forest floor or buried deep in tree trunks. Harry couldn’t take it anymore. “Suggestion”, he bit out quietly. “Power surge or no, a _Homenum Revelio_ cant hurt us, and it would do wonders for my nerves. Thoughts?”

After a tense couple of seconds, they nodded their agreement.

 

Face grim he cast the spell, uncaring of the amount of magic channeled. That was not a wise move, he thought through the mind numbing headache that he got for his efforts. _Merlin fucking wept_. He grit his teeth and swayed at the sudden dizzy spell.

“Good news, we are the only living humans in the area. Bad news, you can in fact hurt yourself with _Homeneum Revelio_ , as I've just discovered. The Morgana forsaken spell covered about two kilometers in each direction. I could probably keep going, but as I’m currently our main line of defense, I suggest a small rest. Agreed?”

 

Ron and Hermione, relieved about the lack of immediate danger, but nonetheless worried about their reckless leader didn’t bother replying. Nodding, they let Harry slump against them, and moved to settle themselves on the forest floor.

They exchanged worried looks. “This was no natural disaster” breathed Hermione tightly. “While most damage appears elemental in nature, the knives tell a different story. My guess is battle magic. I read oriental War Mages use Muggle style weaponry in tandem with battle magic. Vigilance would serve us well.”

 

Ron hummed in agreement, mind working furiously. His task being strategy rather than tactics, he wasn’t too comforted by the lack of people. Unquestionable, if completely recent signs of battle painted a grim picture. Lack of people could just mean everyone was already dead. He firmly shut down that distinctly morbid train of thought. Dead violent people are better than living violent people, he thought sardonically. Let’s not borrow trouble.

 

Harry's bout of dizziness passed soon enough, and the three were on their way again. Movements less careful now that they knew they were alone in the area, they focused their not inconsiderable attention at taking in as much of their surroundings as they could. Their sharp eyes zeroed in at every grim sign of battle. A knife pinning a scrap of cloth to a tree. Whole batches of trees cut down as if with a giant blade. Multiple sights of explosions caused by what had to be a muggle type of grenade or some such explosive.

 

They were so occupied by observing their immediate vicinity that they missed a tall tower appearing on the horizon. Hermione was the first to look up and spot it. She inhaled sharply which was enough for two heads to snap toward her. She pointed mutely at the tower, aghast at the implications.

Harry swore viciously. He was hoping against hope that this was just a small-scale skirmish and that there would be no casualties. That tower was a sure sign of a settlement of some sort. That he could detect no humans.. The three friends went bone white.

 

“Occlumency,” croaked Ron. “We need to occlude and we need to occlude well. This story does not have a happy end.”

Shaken by the unvoiced possibilities, the three decided to take a break and meditate. If their conclusions were even partly correct they would need all the emotional stability Occlumency provided. Granted, that wasn't a long-term solution, but vastly preferable to the alternative. 

 

A couple of hours later they were feeling confident enough that they were occluding as well as they were likely to be, and set their course towards the tower. If they were intimidating before, now the three were downright terrifying. Eyes cold, faces blank, they moved aggressively, not bothering with stealth but focusing on situational awareness. Nothing would take them unawares as they set about their task.

 

It was late afternoon when they sighted the tall walls ahead. By that point the landscape was almost completely ruined, the battle likely growing more fierce as it neared the settlement. The walls were around 15 meters tall, made out of gleaming white stone, and would present a beautiful if intimidating image, if not for two things. One was the lack of structural damage to the walls, considering the utter devastation around them. Strangely enough, they seemed to not serve a defensive purpose at all, because instead of the typical gates that would close if the occasion struck, these gates consisted of a single, huge Archway, more than 10 meters tall. The second, rather more alarming fact was the smell. As they neared the settlement the wind blew in their direction and brought with it the unmistakable smell of death and decay.

 

Even though they were steeling themselves for this since the first sign of battle, the trio slammed down their Occlumency barriers as hard and fast as they could the moment they sensed that Merlin be damned smell. Their PTSD was no laughing matter, and they knew things wouldn’t get better from there.

 

Hermione took a deep breath. Her face twisted in revulsion for a brief moment but immediately smoothed back into unreadable lines. “That was a mistake”, she intoned, voice dead, all emotion hidden deep inside. “The smell is a problem.”

 

Harry and Ron were pale as ash but showed no outward sign of disgust or anger to anyone that didn't know them as well as she did. The signs were there if you knew to look for them. Harry’s eyes were glowing eerily, Ron’s gaze was sharp enough to cut, his freckles cast in sharp relief against the paleness of his skin. The only sign of Hermione’s inner turmoil was her hair, noticeably frizzing with excess magic she couldn’t help but radiate.

 

“Bubble-headed charm, or do I need to get creative?” Harry’s voice was deceptively mild, green cat-eyes gleaming in the dusk. “Are you going to decapitate us?” asked Ron flatly.

There was a pause, and a series of “ _Serpensotia”_ -s later they had hundreds of test subjects and scouts besides. Fortunately, Occlumency seemed to do wonder for Harry’s focus and he quickly got the hang of the charm, with only minimal losses to his reptile army. Turning to his frozen companions, he nodded. With the same measured tone, he pointed his Wand at his dearest friends heads and incanted “ _Respirobulla_ ”. He repeated the same action on himself and felt the familiar sensation of being surrounded by cool, artificially perfect air. “Much better,” he noted clinically. The other two didn’t bother replying, just went back into formation behind him.

 

He turned to the snakes who, having sensed the tense atmosphere as well as the scent of death in the air, were quiet and attentive, waiting for instructions. _sS_ “ _Scout the area ahead. Only report back if there is something that requires our immediate attention. Otherwise, your aim is to asses whatever you can about the settlement ahead. Time is not crucial, but aim for reasonable swiftness._ ” _Ss_

The snakes turned and set about their task immediately, not wanting to risk the Speakers ire. The sooner they finished the task the sooner they would be dismissed from this cursed place.

 

Harry took a moment to strengthen his Occlumency barriers and looked at his companions. "We don't have to go in," he whispered softly, emotion leaking into his voice. “I can burn it all. It wouldn’t even be a hardship. We don’t have to see.. whatever is in there.”

“We do though,” said Hermione, not unkindly. “You know we do.” Harry looked at Ron, who only shook his head and twisted his lips in something that could have been a smile. Harry closed his eyes, forcing down his rage and desperation. “So be it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger because I am trash.


	8. She is strong. She is magic. She will not break.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Err, so. A warning. There's death. And gore. And sadness. This is, really, where the story earn it's mature rating. Please, skip the chapter if you find the concept of war and its gory aftermath disturbing. You could write me a PM and I'd happily summarize the chapter for you. Yeah. So. Angst ahead. And experimenting with tenses and stuff so. Good luck?

Harry took a deep breath of artificially fresh air. He knew what lay ahead would strain his already fraying temper. Whatever was inside would play directly on all the wounds the three of them got in the war. Merlin, he thought hysterically, even in death we cant escape. The idyllic morning they spent on the beach felt like it happened years ago, and to a stranger. His heart was beating wildly, body thrumming with tension. The only thing keeping him together was the sure knowledge he was too powerful to break. He’d hurt Hermione and Ron and that was something he would never do. So. He had to endure.

He focused on all the techniques he employed during the war. Really, it was mercy they had time to prepare. 

A glance at his companions told him they were going through a similar process, mentally preparing to compartmentalize all emotion and, if necessary, control their PTSD enough that it could be dealt with at an appropriate moment. Another deep breath. That’s it. Just breathe. He looked up. The sun was about to set.

A soft hand touched his shoulder. It would've made him recoil if he wasn't controlling himself to such a degree. He looked at Hermione's blank face. She seemed as subdued as humanly possible. Even her hair was lying limply. _Fuck this_.

“It’s getting late.”

Harry didn’t bother to reply, just jerked his head in an approximation of a nod.

“If we break-”

“I will stun you. Both of you.”

“And if you-?”

“You will get the Wand away from me. Without touching it. And hit me on the head. With a rock. If all else fails, Hermione will take the Wand and stun me. Pointless discussion. I will not let you hurt me. You will not let me hurt you.”

That’d do. Communication was beyond him, beyond any of them.

“Let’s go.”

 

The three warriors steeled themselves for the last time, and with dead eyes and steel in their spines walked towards the Archway.

 

(Hermione’s POV)

 

The settlement, no the city is extremely beautiful. The houses and pavement are built from the same gleamingly white stone, the style focused on aesthetics over durability. There are many runic designs on pretty much every surface available and while some seemed decorative, others may have served a purpose. The buildings stand proud, tall and narrow, each with multiple stories, with beautiful balconies, in most cases filled with flowering plants. There is no color. Even the roof tiles were white.

 

Well.

 

That is not true.

 

There was color. Even if there wasn’t meant to be any.

 

She in fact barely noticed the city. As they stepped through the Archway, they froze.

 

The ground is littered with corpses.

There have to be been dozens of broken bodies left there to rot in the unforgiving sun.

They are, she noted clinically, young men. They don’t look like they were (oh god _were_ ) trained soldiers, based on the weapons they were wielding when they were cut down. Kitchen knives, bats, pitchforks. Civilians.

She forced herself not to look at them too closely. Don’t think about the fact this was probably some sort of last stand. Their warriors, if they had any, were defeated, and there was nowhere to run. So they sent out the most able-bodied men.

She wouldn't think about what they were likely to find further. Really. She wouldn't think about it. She wouldn’t.

 

Ron and Harry didn’t look like they were going to move. Irrelevant. There is nothing here that could hurt her more than the massacre in front of her.

 

She moves forward, Harry and Ron following automatically.

 

Further they go, and still more death. She was keeping a rough tally in her mind. When the number went over two hundred she stops. She just. Stops. 

 

She loses track of time. It is a big city. At some point, they pass another set of gleaming walls. The number of corpses grows.

 

They go further.

 

Another set of walls.

 

She stands at the gleaming Archway, dazed. There are _literally_ hundreds of- Don't think about it, Hermione. They can’t pass without stepping on-. _Don't think about it_.

 

She cant make herself ask Harry to move them. They aren’t trash to be swept aside. As if reading her mind Harry moves closer to her and Ron and levitates the rock they are standing on. They fly slowly over the _fucking mountain of-._ No.

 

She closes her eyes. I am no one. Nothing can touch me. I am magic itself. _There will be a reckoning_.

 

The fourth set of walls. This must've been where the older and the sick ran to. She cant go in. She cant. She absolutely cannot step one foot inside. She is magic and she will burn it all. She can’tcan’t _can’t._

She will.

 

Deep breath Hermione. There can't possibly be much more. Who would do this _? What_ would do this? There were _thousands of-._

 

She can't bring herself to look at her lovers. She knows they are coping because she is strong for them. She will be strong. She will not break. She will be strong for her boys and for these poor souls _rotting on the fucking ground like vermin what is wrong with the world whatwhatwhat_.

 

Deep breath.

They cant pass again. She makes a sharp movement with her hand. Harry obeys her unspoken command and levitates them again. They have to fly further in because even more ground is. Otherwise occupied.

 

She is strong. She does not bend as magic does not bend. _Something did this._

They touch the ground and move further.

 

She doesn’t let herself look around overmuch. She knows what she will see. But an uneven rock makes her stumble and she accidentally moves her head and-.

 

She cant move. She cant breathe.

 

There is a child.

 

She knows, rationally, this is not worse. There is no quantifying evil in this place. This beautiful, gleaming sprawling city.

 

But.

 

There is a child and she. Can. Not. Move.

 

Deep breath. She is magic. She will not brea-.

 

She is shaking. Trembling like a leaf. She can't look away.

 

Magic rises from deep inside of her. She needs no wand for this. _She is magic and she is rage and she will burn the world to the ground-._

 

A warm hand settles on her eyes. She is shaking. What is-.

 

A set of arms turn her away. A warm body is pressed against her, a hand on her chest pressing rhythmically. Right. She needs to breathe.

 

She takes a breath, obediently. Then another. And another.

 

Her soul is frozen.

 

She- They move.

 

Look straight ahead, Hermione.

 

She is clutching at something warm. What is it-? Oh. Hands. Right. Her boys are right there behind her. There is life in this beautiful hell.

 

On and on and on. She doesn’t feel tired. She doesn’t feel human. She doesn’t feel. She is magic and she will burn.

 

They reach the fifth set of walls, and her heart skips. She knows what is coming. She is strong but she is still human. Nothing will survive her rage – _their rage._ She cant see this.

 

She cant make her voice work. The words die in her throat and she walks. Leading her boys into something they cant survive. _The world will not survive our rage._

 

They stand at the Archway.

 

There is a giant round courtyard. It is green and healthy and _wrong._ There is an enormous round building, tens of stories high. At the top of it is a very high, relatively narrow tower. That must be what we saw when we left the beach.

 

She can't look away. She has never seen anything like it. There is a giant shimmering dome over the building. Inside of it, everyone is dead. 

 

Her mind cant really comprehend death at this scale. She’s been in war. She’s seen death and dealt it. She’s been tortured and persecuted and went mad with grief. She has never, however, seen the aftermath of a genocide.

 

She stutters to a stop. There is nothing she can do about this. They cant go any further and _that’s where the children have to be._

 

They were looking at the last line of defense. Defense against what, she thought numbly.

 

They cant enter and there is no one left to help.

 

She is suddenly so full of rage she almost chokes on it.

 

She moves forward, letting go of her boys’ hands. She makes herself analyze the scene before her. She needs data. She needs to know who did this. They need to pay.

 

The amount of the dead doesn’t shock her because it doesn’t compute. She stares at the gore and focuses instead on the details.

 

Interesting. These men seem like they were warriors. Soldiers. She focuses more, mind spinning. They were all dressed in similar fashion. Armies need an obvious identifier. What is in common-

 

She spots it quickly enough. All of the _decomposing bo-_ soldiers have a metal plate attached to a strip of cloth somewhere about their person. They have different symbols engraved on them. These must identify their allegiance. Useful. Now if she could only figure out-.

She notices one particular symbol and stops. Its fairly simple in design and she wouldn't have thought it any different from the rest of it wasn't seared across her mind already. It's the symbol etched at almost every available surface in the town.

 

She blinks. Thinks.

 

So. The spiral warriors are the one from the city. The rest probably invaded. Needs more proof but good enough for a working theory. The invaders slaughtered everyone methodically until they reached the center. At that point whoever was left with the children must have concluded it was hopeless and activated the kill switch. Whoever was caught in the dome was killed, and the presence of the dome prevented the remaining invaders from collecting the dead. Remaining invaders must have also gathered the corpses of the spiral warriors but didn’t bother with the civilians. This all happened pretty recently as the bodies aren’t liquefying yet.

 

Calm overtakes her. She looks back at Harry and Ron, standing frozen at the Archway. They’re in shock. Good for them.

 

She will not abandon this place, she wows silently, and _means it_. The dead will be buried according to their customs. Even if she stays here for ten years, she will see it done. _There will be a reckoning._  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in a day! Im on fire!


	9. Gingerly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verry filler-y, and still no ninjas. I dont know, they need to happen, but at the same time, i kind of screwed myself over with the pace. The whole story so far only covers like. Three days. It'd be insane if they would be like, oh lookie, there are some conveniently placed ninjas that absolutely wont kill us the exact same second they see us while we're vulnerable.

Hermione’s POV

 

Still seething, she closed her eyes and let her mind whirl for a couple of seconds. Ideas and options flickered through her mind, as plans were made and re-made. I’m not playing to my strengths here, she thought grimly. But needs must. She squared her shoulders and marched towards her boys. 

 

“Harry,” she snarled. “Get us out of this Morgana forsaken _ode to evil_. Sooner we leave, sooner we can enact bloody revenge.”

 

Not having received a response, she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Hare. Get us out of here. I am tethering on this side of sane only by virtue of not wanting to dance in the ashes of this world before properly burying and honoring these poor souls. Either pull yourself together or give me the Wand and it won't matter either way."

 

With mounting impatience, she watched a spark of intelligence return to his eyes. He probably hadn’t understood a word she said, but the tone must have penetrated the doubtlessly stupendous occlumentic barrier he buried his conciseness under. Guilt was starting to churn in her gut, which slightly dampened some of the righteous rage. Note to self: grovel extensively.

 

Harry didn’t move so much as a muscle, but his magic started rising rapidly. Hermione’s brow furrowed as alarm joined the cocktail of emotions swirling in her gut. For all his stoic facade, the torrential waves of power were screaming his grief to Gaia. Only a couple of seconds passed but it seemed like hours, as the last of her rage disappeared only to be replaced by sorrow. Knees buckling, her vision started going blurry, and she heard a _thump_ as followed. She felt herself shutting down, overwhelmed with despair. _Is the ground rising up? No, we’re flying-_

 

Harry’s POV

 

He felt. Off. Diminished in some way, stripped to the bare essentials. All of his considerable mental energy was tied up in keeping himself from going berserk. Once they were high up in the air he felt himself unclench ever so slightly. A circular patch of the pavement they were previously standing on was now zipping through the air, moving at a truly improbable speed for a structure with no aerodynamic properties whatsoever. He was spacing in and out, as the red fog of grief and rage showed no signs of ebbing.

 

The stone platform hit something suddenly, and the jarring movement sent him sprawling, as he tumbled into the warm sand. He remained prone, suddenly not having the energy to move. Fuck, it had only felt like minutes. He needed to get up. He needed to drink. He needed to drag Ron and Hermione _off of the fucking slab of stone_ and get some sustenance into them. He needed _to kill-_

Well.

 

An indeterminate amount of time later, he was still lying as he fell, staring blankly into the dusky sky, furiously compartmentalizing. Right. Let’s take stock of the situation. He was still drifting in and out, which was worrying, but on the plus side, he felt normally-traumatized as opposed to homicidal. He rightly judged this to be a massive win. But. He needed to get up. _Fuck_.

 

With a herculean effort, he lurched upwards, trying to force his body into cooperating. It was putting quite a bit of effort into resisting though. He was almost impressed. And he was spacing again. _Merlin_.

 

A couple of steps took him to the platform, and he scrambled up. Ron and Hermione lay, boneless, and that they didn’t stir awake at their rather rough landing was a rather good indicator of just how easy it would be to wake them up.

 

He painstakingly carried them down, acquiring a staggering amount of cuts and bruises for such a simple undertaking. When they lay safely, propped up against nearby trees, he moved to get rid of the stone platform. This was done, in the spirit of practicality, by shrinking it down and placing it carefully on a tree that he crudely marked with an X. It would wear off in a couple of days, so carrying around was not advisable.

 

The Deathstick was pulsing angrily in his hand, dissatisfied Harry wasn't raining death and destruction upon the world. It won't be easy making it contend with simple household charms. He sighed wearily and decided talking to an artifact wasn't ridiculous at all. This needed to be settled. The rage and bloodlust wafting off the wand weren't doing his parody of an equilibrium any favors.

“I know,” he whispered. “Merlin and Morgana, how well do I know. Justice will be done, _I swear it_. We will track down people responsible for this obscenity. But. Not now. I r _efuse_ to leave those people there. I will- _We will_ not let that beautiful gleaming city become a relic of pain and misery. _Please_ , help me with this. We are so far out of our depth, it’s not even funny. Merlin, we _committed_ _suicide_ two days ago. Right now, all it would take is one of us to snap, and the other two will gleefully follow. _You know_ how easily we could become monsters.”

The oppressive aura the Wand was giving off was lightening slightly, so Harry pressed his advantage.

“ _You know I'm_ _right_. Death is fair, and you know mindless death and destruction is the furthest thing from fair. Help me make this better, and swear on my magic _I will see justice done_.”

With an almost resigned air, the Wand calmed down and sent Harry a feeling of _acceptance-determination-sorrow._

 

Well _fuck me_ , thought Harry faintly, the Deathstick is talking to me. It’s sentient and capable of communication and _it’s projecting its thoughts to my head what the fuck-?!_

 

His inner panic was derailed by the Wand projecting _amusement-_ _-calm._

Deciding to postpone the _massive amounts of worrying_ he would have to do regarding this new development, he yanked his train of thought back on track.

 

Dazedly, he went about creating them a sort of camp. Not long after, he was standing next to a campsite he had absolutely no recollection creating. He suspected it was something to do with the subtle but steady presence he felt in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Their temporary shelter was circular in shape, with a sizable fire-pit in the center. The floor was composed of white stone tiles, arranged in a spiral. There was a wooden shelter-like structure with a round roof, which containing one big wooden cot covered in some sort of cloth. On the opposite side of the fireplace was a truly massive stone tub filled with water, as well as a smaller one that was more reminiscent of what Harry had transfigured the previous day. The remaining space next to the fireplace was taken up by two long, rough looking benches.

 

Too drained to feel amazed at the unexpectedly comfortable shelter, Harry turned around to go and fetch his friends. Grateful as he was to the Wand's assistance, he wouldn't trust his friends' wellbeing to his chaotic magic. With considerable effort he half dragged, half carried them to the camp, and propped them up next to the tub. The transfigured robes were miraculously still there, but he guessed they wouldn't last for too long. He stripped his robe off and managed to slowly climb over the edge and into the bath. Merlin, the cool water was a relief on the various cuts and bruises littering his body. Pushing away the deep-seated wish to just stay in the tub for all time, he drank as much as he could, and climbed out awkwardly, trying not to damage himself any further.

 

They needed to drink as well. _Fuck_. Noisily, he ripped off the sleeves of his robe off and dipped one in water. He desperately hoped the alien sensation of cold water would be enough to rouse them. Just as he was beginning to lose hope, and resigned himself to dripping water in their mouths and trying to make them swallow, they started stirring. Relief washed over him, and he dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. His bruises screamed at him for this unexpected abuse, but he didn’t care even slightly. They were awake, _oh Merin they were fine_. His vision went black.

 

Ron’s POV

 

He woke up, head fuzzy, altogether confused, _again_. Merlin fucking _wept,_ this is getting repetitive. Scared-Angry-Sad-Confused-Scared, rinse and repeat. His throat was parched, his whole body was one big ache and he was in throes of a truly _spectacular_ migraine. And, perhaps most worryingly, he couldn't remember the last day or so, beyond a feeling of being scared and furious. Very suspicious.

He looked around. They were in a camp, miles better than their previous efforts. Harry was sleeping, naked, on the ground, even though there was a perfectly serviceable cot a couple of meters away, not to mention his robe just laying there on the ground. Hermione was stirring awake, groans indicating his head not being the only one that decided to mutiny.

Grumbling internally a the insanity that is his life, he followed his standard procedure for situations like this. This was far from his first rodeo. Depressingly far.

 

Hermione was at looking at him, her concern almost palpable. He really needed to remember what the fuck happened, because it seemed like it was bad. She reached out to him, taking his hands almost gingerly. _Hah, gingerly_ , he snorted. His head decided this was the perfect time to give off a positively titanic throb, and his good humor vanished.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Right. Protocol. A couple of aborted attempts at speech later, he decided item one on the list would be drinking some water from the conveniently placed tub he was leaning on.

Getting up was a rather embarrassing affair, but he couldn't muster up any strength to feel any which way about it. He managed to coordinate his contrary limbs enough to claw himself up up the stone structure, and promptly dunked his head in the blissfully cool water. His mind unfogged enough to allow one trembling hand to release the death grip he had on the stone and let him drink, making sure to take small, measured sips.

He was so focused on his task he didn't so much as stir when Hermione dunked her frizzy mane in the water, only moving a bit so he wouldn’t drink any of it.

Having drunk his fill, he sat back down, waiting for Hermione to finish, and attempted to speak again.

“What. The fuck." He croaked. She mustered up a weak smile, bone-deep exhaustion lining her features.

“Our lives are one massive cosmic joke,” she rasped, “and I can't tell if we’re the butt of it or the punchline.”

Damn. He _really_ needed to remember what happened. His head throbbed warningly. Or maybe not. _His fucking life._ He sighed.

 

“Can you move?”

Hermione thought about it for a minute. “How badly do I need to?” she replied, rather reasonably he thought.

“We need to move Harry, and ourselves, to the cot. He’s soaking wet, so I imagine he’s not thirsty. We need to sleep.” And eat, and _oh so many_ other things, he added mentally.

“Badly, then. Then yes. I can move.”

“Wonderful. I’ll carry Harry.” _Heh, carry Harry_.

 

The move from the tub to the cot proved to be quite an endeavor, but they managed. At long last, Ron lay in the cot, with Harry and Hermione curled up on each side, all the various aches and pains having joined forces to form one unified front of misery. He fell asleep in, literarily, a blink of an eye.

 

Hermione

 

The noise of the boys’ bustling roused her. For a long moment, she remained lying there, with her eyes closed, breathless from the all-encompassing ache that was her body. She was disoriented, nothing new there. Hungry, thirsty. Needing desperately to pee. Well, that's as good a reason to get up as any.

 

She cracked her eyes open, squinting at the bright morning. It has no business being this cheerfully bright. Give me a nice gloomy drizzle to go with my mood. She craned her head slightly.

The boys looked considerably better than she felt. They were going about preparing a fishy breakfast, in comfortable if not cheerful silence. Exhaustion was visible in their faces but not their frames, so she guessed they were more strained mentally than physically. She was rather impressed. This was a massive step up from her sorry state.

Comfortable with spending the foreseeable future drowning in self-pity, she propped herself up to her elbows and breathed through the pain. _Merlin._

Her head was throbbing with a rather alarming intensity, a sensation she was by no means a stranger to. Her life could, in fact, be mapped by headaches of different kinds and flavors. There were the positive, smug ones after a long but productive day in the library. The sharp, shrill ones, the side-effect of strong annoyance, typically at ignorance. The deep, throbbing ones following an emotional roller-coaster. Red, ringing ones, that went hand in hand with rage and fury. And many, many more.

 

The flavor of the day was a combination of incredibly strong emotional upheaval coupled with violence. That seemed to be altogether appropriate, even if the intensity was quite exceptional, she noted to herself dispassionately. Normally she would let them work their way through her system, but today she couldn’t afford the impairment. Their situation was _dire_.

She went about her morning quickly and efficiently by ducking behind the shelter. Very relieved, she shuffled slowly back, mindful of her uncooperative limbs. She managed to arrange herself into a semblance of comfort and entered a  meditative trance.

 

The technique was one of her making, and it consisted of, crudely put, forcefully calming her chaotic mind by eliminating the emotional significance of specific memories. Only people with extensive neurobiological knowledge could even stand a chance of understanding the process, as part of the process was manipulating the area of the brain necessary for learning or assessing the emotional significance of events. Needless to say, the technique was exceedingly dangerous, exhausting and complex. She wasn’t worried in the slightest. Her mind was _hers_ and she wouldn’t be beholden to it.

 

Her mindscape was an absolute mess, and she gave a mental equivalent of a weary sigh. This would not be easy. Well, fuck it, she mused philosophically.

 

By the time she was finished, hours went by, and a much calmer if even more tired Hermione stretched like a cat, her body screaming at her for the continual abuse. Taking stock of the situation she realized her mental manipulation took her much longer than she expected as it were well after noon. Not too far off, she could see Harry and Ron making something on the beach, their faces much more animated then they were when she saw them last. Peace and quiet did them all a world of good. She decided she would leave them to it. The best thing she could do for them right now is think.

 

Casting her gaze around her, she spotted a bundle of cloth next to a stone pot filled with fish, and she suspected hit with a preservation charm or two.

 

She picked up the bundle, curious. It was a rather elegant robe, a conjuration in all likelihood. The new robe was a vast improvement on the last, made out of a much softer, denser fabric, dyed light gray. It wouldn’t last, of course, and the improvement in detail will make its lifespan even shorter, but she appreciated the effort. Conjuring complex items was in no way simple, especially when wrestling with your own magic. It even had a nice smell. Unlike her, she wrinkled her nose.

 

A short bath later found Hermione robed, wet hair piled atop of her head in a messy knot, savoring her breakfast. Her boys were the best.

 

 


	10. Three Musketeers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and fluff and my annoyance at Dumbledore kind of shows. And, as always, lots of swearing, incomplete sentences, and beginning a sentence with "and". Live long and prosper!
> 
> A/N. Edited for like. Gross mistakes. And maybe fewer sentences begin with "and" now. Maybe.

  
  


It was amazing, mused Hermione, how much emotions cloud up one’s judgment. She prided herself on being level-headed, but grief and horror reduced her to a mindless automation that wanted to make the world suffer. Now she could look back at those memories and calmly analyze them. She shouldn’t dwell, of course. She eliminated the emotions she’d felt at the time, but that didn't mean she wouldn't feel them again if she were to look too closely. It was a delicate balance, one that meant tiptoeing around her own mind. Remembering facts, but keeping away from the connotations. A part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity.

  
  


Really, she bit her lip, a split personality could develop  _ever so easily_  when you fuck around with your mind too much. Especially if you have magic at your disposal. And you're working with things you don't quite understand. Using techniques that are by their very nature, impossible to replicate, even if somebody had the skill to use them. Which they didn't. I'm a fucking paragon of mental and physical health, she thought wryly.  _Fucking paragon_.

  
  


Focusing, she burrowed down into the sand and settled in for a long planning session.

  
  


Meanwhile, Harry and Ron had a very different morning. Ron was roused by hunger. He took one look at Harry (in the throes of a spectacular nightmare) and Hermione (sleeping like an angel). Right then, Harry can help with breakfast.

One lullaby, some very fast talking, and a long, calming bath later, saw the boys waddling in the sea. They intended to catch a couple of fish and have them live in a stone tank they'd keep in the camp. To that end, Harry transfigured a large stone tub and filled it with  _Augmenti_. A couple of  _Accio_ 's later, they deposited all but one squirming animal in the tub. His part done, Harry busied himself by attempting to transfigure proper eating utensils.

Ron was halfway through gutting and preparing the first fish when a cry from Harry interrupted the peace.

  
  


Ron froze, elbow-deep in fish guts. Heart pounding in his chest, he craned his head to Harry. What now, for Merlin’s sake, he despaired.

  
  


“The fish!” Harry exclaimed, not having noticed the panicking redhead.

  
  


“What.” Bit out Ron, frame still tense. “What about the fish?”

  
  


Harry turned around and noticed his irate friend. “Ah.” He smiled nervously. “They need. Er. Salt?”

  
  


Ron stared at him, blank-faced, one hand white-knuckled around the handle of the knife, the other causing considerable structural damage to their breakfast. Harry gulped.

  
  


“Y’see, they're sea-water fish. So they need, like. Salt. Which these three,” he gesticulated wildly in the direction of the fish, the sea, and the rest of the Cosmos, “don’t have. I mean, they have it inside of them. But not outside. Because they're in the tub. Filled with freshwater. Which can’t be good. I mean, can they even breathe? I assume they can but like. They could be in pain. Or like. Annoyed?” He trailed off, having run out of breath and even passingly cognizant arguments, but on the upside, Ron looked more incredulous than murderous.

  
  


“Annoyed. The fish are  _annoyed_. The three fish we haven’t yet  _killed and eaten_  are annoyed. Because of suboptimal salinity.” Ron’s tone was flat, but a smile was tugging the edge of his mouth.

  
  


Harry grinned back, relieved. “I can wake up Hermione if you want. I’m sure she’d have a lot to say about the ethics of keeping animals in less than ideal conditions.”

  
  


Ron barked out a laugh, voice still somewhat raspy. “I’m sure she would,” he muttered fondly.

  
  


“So,” Harry continued breezily, “we should release them until we can guarantee living conditions they deserve.”

  
  


Ron spent a moment trying to come up with a token protest, but couldn’t for the life of him make himself to care. He looked at his friend. He would have and indeed had done much worse things to see Harry smile. And, ultimately, the thought of one iota of suffering more than what was strictly necessary, made his stomach turn. Especially now.

  
  


“Right you are, Hare.”

  
  


Harry's smile brightened. Catching fish wasn’t difficult, but wasn’t satisfying either. Releasing them, however, would be  _immensely satisfying._

  
  


Ron went back to preparing the one unlucky fish that didn’t get the opportunity to lodge its salinity complaint, and Harry went about releasing the rest. He levitated the tub over the surface of the water, canceled the transfiguration, and watched three fish, some water, and a medium pebble fall in the sea. The fish seemed confused but were taking no chances, and were busily dashing off to safety. He squinted at them, trying to see if their foray into freshwater had caused them any debilitating problems. Luckily, they seemed perfectly healthy, as fish went. “I’d swim far if I were you. Being caught again won't work out as well as it did today,” he muttered. A wistful smile pulled his lips, his face pensive, as he watched the scaley trio disappear.

  
  


The boys continued about their tasks, with much lighter hearts. Ron, humming under his breath while watching slabs of fish roast. Harry, transfiguring eating utensils with intricate, if surreal embellishments. Ron squinted at the plates. Fish seemed to be the motif. Three highly anthropomorphized fish, that seemed to wear - hats? Strange hats, too, with comically wide brims, and nary a point in sight! The fish were also wielding - swords? Yes, that was a sword without a doubt, in a scabbard and everything.

He looked up at his snickering friend, baffled. “I’ve got nothing,” he shrugged helplessly. “What the fuck, Hare?”

  
  


“They’re the three Musketeers. Only like. Fish. Geddit?”

  
  


“Is it a Muggle thing again?”

  
  


“Wha- Oh come on! It’s the Modred-damned Three Musketeers! You’ve got to have read it, inbred pureblood or not”

  
  


“Hey now”, grinned Ron, “I and my webbed feet protest that statement!”

  
  


Harry showed him companionably. “Whatever. They actually reminded me of us. Three friends, thrust into dangerous situations, surviving out of sheer dumb luck." He sensed the mood was becoming melancholy, so he swerved his thoughts back towards humor. “So does that make us the troll? Voldemort? Say it isn’t Umbridge!”

  
  


“Mate, I’ll take Umbridge over Lockhart,” grinned Ron. “She was at least properly evil. Lockhart was just  _incompetently_ malicious.”

  
  


Harry shuffled closer, sat down, and looked at him dubiously. “Sure. Because competence is what we want in villains.”

  
  


He thought about it for a minute and found it was much easier to think about their pasts. The thought of Voldemort didn't immediately cause agony to stab through his heart. In fact, he felt a bubble of happiness rise in his chest. He could think about the War without risking an emotional meltdown. He could -  _talk about it._

  
  


"I will concede Umbridge was evil though. At Voldemort's worst, I never hated him as much as I have Umbridge. The thing that did it for me was how  _meaningless_  it all was. The power Umbridge lorded over us was completely fictional. She wielded the power awarded to her by bureaucracy and red tape. All it would have taken was one bigger group realizing they absolutely didn't have to do a thing she said. That's it. She'd be done.

  
  


Voldemort though… Voldemort was powerful. Like. Out-of-this-world, maddeningly powerful. Our only saving grace was that there wasn’t a lick of sanity left after he shredded his soul and died a few times.”

  
  


Ron kept quiet and feigned nonchalance but couldn’t keep the astonishment from his face.  _This was brilliant_. He couldn’t remember last time Harry talked about the War without hiding behind devil-may-care attitude and dark humor.

  
  


Harry continued.

  
  


“Fucking hell, was that man clever though. I could feel it, you know, through our link. The sheer, raw power of his mind. Even after his resurrection in fourth year, by means of a  _botched ritual_ performed by  _Wormtail_. He absolutely should've been a drooling madman, incapable of all but the most basic bodily functions. His mind was  _truly_  magnificent to have kept him going as long as it had.

And his magic. The three of us combined, with the Elder Wand thrown in for good measure, couldn’t match his raw power. Most of it was beyond his reach near the end, given how mad he was. But it was always there, fathomless. 

  
  


_“Fucking Britain._ How much damage could we have prevented if didn't abandon a wunderkind of untold proportions in an orphanage? During World War Two? Because Albus fucking Dumbledore saw an abused eleven-year-old orphan and thought  _evil._  What  _miracles_ would he have wrought, if the fucking  _system_  provided at least an opportunity to lead a moral life? I would've taken him in a second if I was there now. I would've loved him as my own son, yes. But I would have  _adored_  him for his mind. His ambition. His curiosity.

  
  


“Tom Marvolo Riddle. Terrorist or a revolutionary. He killed, and destroyed, and didn’t give much thought to what would be left in the end. A malicious, unhinged creature that ended up being beyond ambition other than taking out it's anger at the world. He  _was_  evil, there’s no doubt about that.

  
  


“But so was the system he railed so vehemently against. The system that took one orphan and made him into a villain, and then used another one to kill him. That lied and lied and  _lied_  until even their brainwashed child soldiers realized there was something rotten in the state of Denmark. Nobody can tell me that system was  _one iota_  less evil than Tom fucking Riddle.

  
  


“We should’ve stayed clear of all that bullshit. We should’ve sworn a fucking  _oath_ , taken our family and run. Dumbledore, Fudge, and their ilk made Voldemort, let them have him.“

  
  


The more he spoke, the lighter he felt. An established habit of repressing trauma wasn’t easily overcome, but he was shocked out of his conditioning. Being blindsided by an act of evil on a scale so much greater than they ever assumed possible, put things into perspective somewhat. Harry’s empathy was well and truly overwhelmed. All that was left was jaded acceptance there was unspeakable evil in the world, and an utter lack of scruples when it came to defending what little there was worth defending.

  
  


He closed his eyes, tilting his head back.

  
  


“We can't let history repeat itself. I can't be lead again.  _I won't_. Not by anyone. Fuck whatever system that allowed tens of thousands of men, women, and children being slaughtered and. Just. Left. Them. There.  _Fuck that._ ”

  
  


Ron threw a hand over his shoulder, tugging him closer until he was basically in his lap.

  
  


“Thank you for sharing, Hare. It means a lot. And you’re right. What happened to us was unconscionable, and it was donemostly by our side. By people responsible for our welfare. We shouldn’t lose track of the pressures of the war, and the values they were brought up under. Sure. Fine. But. Each and every one of the adults was so cavalier about the lives of children they were responsible for, it blows my mind. The other side understood loyalty at least. They understood responsibility. Draco was the youngest Death Eater, and his first mission was in sixth year. You killed a  _teacher_ at  _eleven._ And Albus fucking Dumbledore sat high up in his ivory tower, eyes twinkling as he sends a child he,  _personally_ , is responsible for, to an abusive home. To be beaten and starved. He did this, year after fucking year, never once owning up to the fact that, morally, he didn’t much change from his Grindelwald days, only became more Slytherin about it.”

  
  


Tightening the grip around Harry's shoulders, he rested his head on the messy black locks. "But  _we got out_ , Hare," he breathed, viciously satisfied. "I don't know where we are, and I don't know  _what the fuck_  is going on. I'm no Hermione, but I'm not completely stupid. This isn’t our world. It can't be. The ambient magic, Hare, it’s  _completely different._ That  _cannot_  be accounted for. The magic is different, the stars are different, the fucking  _atmosphere_  is different.

  
  


“Hare, love, it’s a fresh start. Sure, there's war, and evil, and death. But we’re  _free_  from all the bullshit. It’s a clean fucking slate love, and I absolutely can't wrap my head around it.”

  
  


Burying his head in Ron's shoulder, Harry smiled. “Hope and freedom, and evil and death. How  _exciting._ ”

 

 


	11. Spiral-city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This might be a bit more plotty. I tried?

Harry was loath to leave their impromptu embrace, but after a while, a niggling thought in the back of his mind couldn’t be ignored any further. He extracted himself from the lanky redhead and rose, stretching languorously. “Hermione has been quiet as a mouse, with no book in sight. I'm worried.” He grinned to show he wasn’t completely serious, but still. It was a very unusual situation.

Hermione was never one for relaxing, and he remembered the sheer level of rage she exhibited earlier. Chances are she was plotting bloody revenge. That, in Harry’s opinion, wasn’t _strictly speaking_ a bad thing, but Hermione wasn’t best suited for long-term plans. She’d get stuck at the first tangible gap in knowledge and obsess over it until she learned whatever she’d missed. Pedantic was one way of describing her. Pathologically perfectionist was another. Considering how little they knew –  _well_. Better try to avoid the meltdown.

 

He tugged Ron to his feet and the two ambled off in search of their third. They found her almost exactly where they left her, sitting cross-legged next to the cot. She presented a deceptively unthreatening image, eyes closed, face serene, damp hair piled atop of her head in a messy bun. Harry wasn’t fooled for a _second_. Whatever nightmare she was concocting, she’d best finish. An occlumens at work was best left alone. An occlumens of Hermione’s caliber – well. He supposed there were worse things one could do, but not as many as one would expect.

 

Ron elbowed him and nodded his head in the direction of the tub. He shrugged, nodding his agreement. The two were relaxing silently in the bath for not more than ten minutes, when Hermione opened her eyes and yawned. “Oh good, you’re here”.

Harry quirked his brow. “Honey, we’ve not been more than a few meters away from each other since we appeared on this bloody island. Where else would we be?”

Hermione nodded absently “Right, right, of course.” He bet she didn’t hear a word of what he said. She stood, joints popping from prolonged stillness, and focused a bit on the scene before her. With an approving air, she shimmied out of her own robe and came to join them in the bath. “This will do nicely. We can talk while I get sand out of my unmentionables. I swear to _Merlin_ , I did not know about sand's potential for sticking to any and all available surfaces. _Merlin fucking **wept**_ , how do people survive beaches without magic.”

“They swim," answered Harry, wry. “Swim and suffer. Sand sticking everywhere is part of the experience".

She shuddered.

 

Ron blinked his eyes open lazily. “Are we pretending you were meditating there in all your occlumentic glory, and what you want to talk about is sand? Out with it, love. Not talking about shit hasn’t worked out so far. We’re all three of us here, and whole. That’s enough for me. I'm done avoiding uncomfortable topics.”

Hermione nodded. “I agree. Harry?”

Harry jerked his head sharply. “Absolutely. Will you do the honors, ‘Mi?”

 

She took a deep breath. “Right. Well, first thing’s first. Keep in mind, this is just a working theory. But. I think we’re in an Alternate Reality. A different universe. Whatever you want to call it. I don’t know how, but it’s safe to say it has something to do with the Hallows. Anything else would be too much of a coincidence since they're the only things to make the jump with us. It can't be an unfamiliar land, because the differences are too vast. I suppose it could be another planet, but that’s neither here nor there. Wherever we are, it's not on Earth. Good so far?”

“We figured as much love,” shrugged Ron.

“As you said, it’s not terribly important how we got here. We’re here, and as far as I can tell the pros outweigh the cons. For one, no-one seems to be policing magic, or they’d be here already. Not to mention, another world means no fucking press. _We’re free_.” Harry’s tone was becoming increasingly intense the more he spoke, and the last sentence was more than a little feral.

 

Hermione smile offered its sharpness to the world. “We are that. And we can play by _our_ rules here.”

“Build ourselves a proper Atlantis here,” added Ron, his lazy sprawl belied by the wolfish grin.

Hermione sobered at that. “There is one thing that I feel I must do. I’d appreciate your help, but it’s in no way expected of you.”

Harry snorted. “Many thanks. Our schedules are, indeed packed full. It's _nice_ of you to acknowledge that. Having said that, I think it's possible to squeeze in time in between fish one and fish two, to help you.”

Ron smirked, amused. “Of course we’ll help ‘Mi. When have we not?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes at them. “It needed to be said, and it’s true to boot. The project I have in mind will shape the next couple of months if we’re very lucky, years if we’re not. And don’t kid yourselves. Your schedules, as you so nicely put it, will be _unbelievably full_. We’re free, yes. We can, and will, live in whatever way we choose. But. We’re also in a _completely_ unfamiliar world, stranded on a _murder island_ , with next to no resources. We’ll manage, and we’ll _thrive_ , I have no doubt. But it will be extremely hard work. _So_. With the caveats in place, the short version of what I want to do is bury each and every person, in accordance to their traditions. Allowances will have to be made because of the sheer number of corpses there, and burying them one by one, for example, would see us dead of old age before we finish. But. I am serious when I say _I will not let them rot there_ , and I will not throw them in a mass grave like trash. That’s basically the premise. So. Thoughts?”

 

Harry and Ron looked at her, incredulity written over their faces. Harry was the first one to speak. "How in the world-?" His voice broke off, eyes downcast. After a moment, he started again. "Hermione, all jokes aside. Of course we will help, that was _never_ even in question but-". He trailed off once more and raised his brilliant eyes, confusion and a bit of hurt swirling in their depths. "Did we do something to make you doubt us? Darling, I’d wreak death and destruction if you so wished. I don’t understand why you’d-?" 

Hermione interrupted him, her hand gentle on his shoulder. “Hare. You didn’t do anything, of course you didn’t. I just didn’t want to burden you with more death. We just finished one war and.. Darling, yesterday, you and Ron went into shock before we even went through the last set of walls. You were catatonic, both of you. I couldn’t force you, or guilt you into this. This will be a grim, exhausting task. This way you can at least make an informed choice, secure in the knowledge that if you refuse that will be the end of it.”

 

Ron leaned over and kissed her forehead, then Harry’s. “If you didn’t suggest it, I would. It’s mind shattering, what happened in that town, and I will do what I can to fix it. There was no fixing Britain. I couldn’t help those who don’t want to be helped. But here, I can help. So I will. It really is as simple as that.”

Harry leaned into Ron’s taller frame, taking comfort in his steadiness. “Don’t doubt me, ‘Mi. I didn’t shy away from Death when I was a child, and I won't do so now. It is a noble task you chose, one worthy of you. I will be by your side as you were at mine. Always.”

 

A gentle hand brushed his bangs from his face. “I apologize. I should’ve phrased it in a better way. I did not mean to hurt you.” He leaned into her hand, hurt abating

 

Hermione closed her eyes. She allowed herself a moment of weakness as relief punched through her. _Merlin_. The hard part's done. She gathered her iron will and wrapped it around herself like a cloak.

 

“So be it. I won't insult you by questioning you further. Just know this is no small undertaking.” She pierced them with her eyes. “We have to plan this in detail. Our workload is immense, and I've just added to it considerably. Regardless, this is what I've got so far.

 

Our goal, in this case, is to bury the citizens of Spiral-city. We want to do it as respectfully and as carefully as possible, within reason. Our first roadblock is _time_. We need to learn their language, their history, and customs. Then we need to collect all the dead, and, well, sort them. Time is our enemy here because I won't let those people decompose there for months it will take us to figure out the logistics of this.

I have a couple of potential solutions, but I’d love to hear your thoughts first. Plus my throat is  _parched_.”

 

Ron, whatever his demeanor might suggest, listened to Hermione attentively. The sheer scope of what she was suggesting made his head spin. “You want to put a stasis charm on the whole Morgana damned city, you wonderful lunatic,” he croaked, in awe.

 

Harry pursed his lips. “No, I don’t think so. Too crude. Not a stasis charm. A stasis Ward.”

 

Hermione's eyes gleamed, smug as a cat. “A warding scheme. The Spiral city already has walls circling it, for that exact purpose I bet. It shouldn’t be too difficult to inscribe our array there. The difficult part will be designing the system because 'stasis ward' is something of a misnomer. It will actually be a rather multi-faceted piece of magic. I will enjoy designing it immensely. I have it figured out for the most part, at least in theory, and the arithmancy will be time-consuming, but not too challenging intellectually. What will be challenging is keying ourselves in them. In most cases, keying one or more persons in a warding scheme means those specific people are covered by the effect of the ward. Our situation is pretty much reversed. We want to be specifically excluded from the effects. Either we would have to reverse the concept of the key or design another set of wards on top of this one. Tricky business.”

 

Ron looked up, deep in thought. “What will we do in the meantime? It will take weeks to design the wards, and at least a week to inscribe them. Even if we had the materials we need, which we don’t.”

 

Hermione winced. “A stasis charm,” she admitted, blushing slightly.

“Hah!” Crowed Ron. “ _I knew it_!”

Harry stared at her, flabbergasted. “You _can't_ cast a stasis charm on a town, you absolute madwoman! More to the point, _I_ can't cast a stasis charm on a town!”

Hermione shrugged, unconcerned. “You most certainly can. I've seen your power output. Your _Revelio_ covered about the surface of the town, and that takes roughly the same amount of magic. A conventional charm will be impossible, but with seven anchors around the town, and a metric ton of magic, it will be manageable. Don’t stress your pretty little head about it, darling. That will be the easy part.”

_The easy part_ , mouthed Harry incredulously. “Well, _fuck me_ ,” he shrugged helplessly. “We’re _casting a stasis charm_ on a _town_.”

 

“To recap,” sighed Ron. “We need to cast a system of stasis charms, to buy us time to design a system of stasis wards, to buy us time to bury a city’s worth of dead people.”

 

“Not the most flattering way of putting it, but essentially true,” agreed Hermione. “I doubt it will be quite as bad as all that. Most of the work will be theoretical. Once we get the warding schemes done, the rest will be spread out over weeks and months. You won't even notice, what with all other work we need to get done.”

 

“Well, _that’s_ good to hear. I was worried for a second, but now I understand that this pile of work will be camouflaged in the other, _much bigger pile of work._ Phew,” deadpanned Harry.

 

Hermione beamed, a manic light in her eyes. “Isn't it just?”

 

Ron cleared his throat, an amused smirk brightening his face. “Getting back on point. We still need to discuss the practicalities. Namely, while this project is important, it’s also important to stabilize our lives in the immediate future. There are a couple of issues I feel hadn't been addressed. 

 

“Security for one. Someone killed all those people. I want wards in place to prevent them from coming back. 

 

“The Hallows, for another. They're our only dependable source of magic right now, and that makes them a huge security issue. We really can't afford to lose them, especially -and this didn’t even occur to me until just now- because the _genocidal maniacs_ that live in this world could potentially _use them_. ‘Mi, it could be a good idea if tried to recall something you might have read about binding rituals. If you can't remember one, we’re going to have to design one. We’re basically bound to the Hallows anyway, why not make it permanent, thus solving both problems?

“Hermione and I should also start working with our Hallows. Harry only used the cloak, and sparingly so. They're incredibly valuable and useful artifacts. We shouldn’t lose such a resource because of fear and squeamishness. 

“Intel is an obvious one. We will need to inhale this world’s culture and history. The obvious first step is learning the language. I'm sure we can liberate enough books to learn the rest on our own. But leaning the language requires people. Don’t look at me like that darlings, if you can figure out how to learn a new language without any human contact, I’d be eternally grateful.

I’m not too worried about food and such. Everything we need, we can make, or conjure. That’s actually the part I'm looking forward to most. We've been raised to use our magic to destroy, whatever hypocritical shit they’ve taught us in school. Now we can build. We can stretch our magic, and cast all the spells we wanted to when we were children. I wasn’t kidding when I said we can make ourselves Atlantis.”

 

“O-kay. Give me some time to process this,” pleaded Harry. “You can’t just dump something like that on me, you know? My head? You know what it’s doing right now? Killing me. _Merlin_.”  

 

Ron huffed, amused, and buried his face in damp locks, tightening his hands previously slung around the green-eyed boy. “We’ve got all the time in the world Hare-bear.”

 


End file.
